


CAPCOM

by MorbidBirdy



Series: The Space Between [1]
Category: Gundam Wing, Mobile Suit Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Drama, F/M, International Space Station, Lots of Footnotes, M/M, Minor Character Death, NASA, Outer Space, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Really Freaking SLOW Burn, Slow Burn, Tragic Accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-13 07:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidBirdy/pseuds/MorbidBirdy
Summary: Astronaut Heero Yuy has spent months preparing to embark on his second mission to the International Space Station, but days before departure he is stricken with illness and forced to forfeit his position to his alternative, astronaut Trowa Barton. Over time Heero's animosity for his replacement transforms into respect, and then ultimately obsession. Can he maintain his professional boundaries, even with over 200 miles of atmosphere separating them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1: CAPCOM is complete (nearly 60k words) and chapters will be posted as they are edited and revised.

**_Bay Area Regional Hospital_ ** ****__  
**_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** ****__  
**_Sunday October 05, 2003_ **  
  
  
Heero flinched as Wufei, Houston Mission Control’s head physician, tentatively palpated his abdomen with a gloved hand.  
  
“This is serious. It may be your appendix…” the Chinese man said with a frown. He looked up at Heero with an apologetic expression. He knew how much weight his diagnosis would carry for the eager astronaut.

“No. I must have strained myself during my morning workout,” replied Heero weakly, his expression pained despite his attempts to play it off. He shuddered as another chill coursed through his body, accompanied by a dense lump of nausea that had formed in his throat. It had been an hour since the extreme, sudden pain had started at his bellybutton and eventually had radiated around to his right side. Unable to sit up, he was curled into the fetal position on his left side while he combatted the ominous pain stabbing at his gut.

“You’re an idiot,” Wufei grumbled as he tugged Heero’s white JAXA[1] t-shirt down to cover his torso. “You know damn well that I’m right,” he chastised his injured comrade with a sigh, “I’m sorry to say this but we’ve got to admit you ASAP. That appendix is going to have to come out before it ruptures. You’re looking at a serious infection, Yuy.”

Duo absently groped at his own stomach through his blue NASA polo shirt as he watched Wufei give Heero his quick, emergency exam. “How does that even fuckin’ happen? What causes it?”

Heero tried to push himself to a sit but immediately hit a wall of pain that forced him back down onto the gurney. He hugged his knees and medicated himself with a stream of curses angrily muttered under his breath. _This isn’t happening. This can’t be fucking happening..._

“Could be a stomach infection that moved to the intestine, or maybe something is lodged in there and that’s causing an issue. Either way, he’s going to have to have another surgeon examine him.” Wufei looked down at Heero and sighed. “I’m sorry but there’s no other way around it.”

The statement felt like a punch to his already aching abdomen. Heero closed his eyes and groaned, this time not from the searing pain, but from the realization that he was grounded. He was off the mission. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.

8 months before Heero had landed back on Earth after his first 6-month mission to the ISS and had been chomping at the bit to get back out to space ever since. Working in the cramped, chaotic, isolated maze of gear and experimentation was like heaven to him. He had loved everything about it: the objectives, the liberating feeling of weightlessness as his body escaped the pull of Earth’s gravity and the quiet detachment from the rest of human society. He felt more at home in his tiny, rectangular sleeping pod than he did in his queen sized, spacious bed back in Houston.

Now his wings had been clipped, forced to watch the launch from the ground, caged in the hospital while the rest of his fellow crew launched from Cape Canaveral[2] on the Space Shuttle Atlantis without him. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed and completely helpless. He tried his best not to appear as frustrated as he felt, draped his arm over his eyes and bit his lower lip.

“Don’t worry, Heero. I’ll bring you a piece of asteroid or somethin’ as a souvenir,” Duo chirped in an attempt to lighten the mood. Had his grinning colleague been within arm’s reach Heero would have cold clocked him in the nose.

“Duo, go have Sally tell the ground team that we’re going to activate the secondary flight engineer. Have her transfer Heero’s medical record to the head emergency surgeon here at the hospital.” Wufei rubbed his chin as he spoke. “That doesn’t give your replacement much time to prepare for departure. I’ll have to get in touch with whoever _that_ astronaut’s physician is to make sure that he or she is up to date on all of their sequential pre-launch physicals…” It was clear that Wufei’s mind was no longer on Heero’s apparent appendicitis but a few steps ahead, planning for the arrival of his replacement. 

“Got it,” Duo said with a small salute, cast an apologetic glance at Heero, and vanished from the room.

Once alone Wufei gently squeezed Heero’s shoulder and frowned down at him as he spoke.  “These things happen. We have the situation under control, you’re going to be fine.”

“Right…” Heero grumbled from behind his arm. “I’m _just_ fine.”

The reality was that he _wasn’t_ fine. His health was the least of his worries. The appendix wasn’t a vital organ, and that its purpose was still unknown. He would be able to live without it. What he _couldn’t_ live with was the fact that he had spent months of grueling training with his team only to be plucked out of the situation at the last minute to be replaced by someone else. It was his new reality, and a bitter pill to swallow.

 

* * *

 

“The doctor said you can’t go home unless you eat,” Relena explained  as she presented Heero with a heaping spoonful of bland mashed potatoes. The sight of them immediately turned his stomach. “You don’t want to be stuck in here forever, do you?”

“I’m not hungry,” Heero grumbled as he narrowed his eyes at the computer screen. Fresh out of surgery, his body may have been in his hospital room but his mind was in the shuttle with the rest of the crew as as they careened through the atmosphere to orbit.

 _They’re probably experiencing the full 3 g’s right now[3]_ _,_ he thought as he recalled his last shuttle flight from Earth. It had been his first ride and while it had been a mild experience compared to some of the g-forces he had sustained in his Navy pilot training it had still been a thrilling ride.

The Atlantis[4] launch had lifted off from Kennedy SLF Runway 15 without a hitch, on schedule at exactly 12:45:47 UTC with it’s crew of 7; 5 soon-to-be resident ISS astronauts and 2 NASA Atlantis pilots.

Heero watched the textbook launch on his laptop while Relena dropped the potatoes and fussed over him, trying to coax him to drink his apple juice. He ignored her, too entranced with the video feed as the shuttle performed its standard roll program as it broke through the atmosphere. He swat her hand away irritably, his eyes never leaving the brilliant footage of the rocket at breakneck 84,500 mph.

NASA had been merciful enough to provide him with a direct video feed of the launch, as well as a link to the broadcast of communications between ground control in Houston and the space shuttle itself. His thoughts were verified by the mission Commander Lucrezia Noin speaking over the COM.

_“3 g’s, positive pressure affirmed. Pitch, yaw complete. External temps are looking good.”_

Houston responded. **_“All crew vitals are stable. Shuttle maintaining heading, external temperatures now 2000 degrees fahrenheit. Propellant tanks now at 40 percent.”_ **

Heero watched the grainy video footage as the shuttle and rocket shrank away into the distance, occasionally becoming occluded by a thin layer of cirrus clouds.

 _They’ll drop the external propellant tank soon,_ he thought, his mind ticking off each step of the launch.

“Here, try some creamed corn,” Relena offered a heaping spoonful of the slimy yellow goo. Heero shook his head with a frown, pursed his lips and avoided the incoming mush with a tilt of his head.

“You’re being such a big baby about this,” Relena exclaimed, exasperated.

“Just … let me watch this. Then I’ll eat,” he grumbled as he turned the volume up on the live COM feed. Sighing in defeat, Relena dropped the spoon onto Heero’s tray and slumped back into the hard chair at his bedside, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She had no interest in watching the launch footage, it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen one before.

As the mission’s head Public Affairs Officer[5], Heero knew that Relena was fully capable of appreciating all of the hard work and manpower that went into each launch, but it was obvious that she didn’t find the sight of the space shuttle piercing the clouds to be as thrilling as he did.

The space shuttle soon found its orbit around the Earth eight and a half minutes after the initial launch sequence had begun. The familiar back and forth between Houston and the onboard crew filled the COM connection as the astronauts checked in and became comfortable in the microgravity of Low Earth Orbit[6].

 _“Beginning all-systems safety protocol checklist,”_ replied the calm, familiar voice of his former teammate, Sally Po.

 _“Cabin pressures nominal,”_ Duo, the mission’s primary science officer, announced casually before adding, _“whew, what a ride. Heero, you listenin’ in? I got a nosebleed this time, too!”_ The American astronaut exclaimed proudly into the COM, sniffing loudly into his microphone for emphasis.

 _“Computer establishing contact with ISS,”_ a low, unfamiliar voice reported over the connection. “ _Rendezvous and dock projected in 38 hours, 12 minutes, 30 seconds,”_ it added, the calm voice carrying with it a notable French accent.

Heero frowned and glanced to his right at Relena, who was sorting a stack of papers in her lap.

“Who is that,” he asked with a frown, though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

“Oh? _Now_ you want to talk to me?” She was obviously hurt by his previous dismissive behavior.

Heero sighed and flopped back against his pillow, staring irritably up at the ceiling. His morphine was wearing off and the stapled incision site in his abdomen was beginning to ache. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

He felt Relena’s cool fingers grab his wrist, tangling in the many identity and medical bracelets there. “I’ll tell you if you just _eat_ something,” she negotiated. He cut his eyes at her, noticing the faint smile that had formed on her glossy lips. Relena always knew how to manipulate him to get what she wanted.

Heero looked down at his tray with its individual squares full of nutritious, hospital-grade slop and cringed at the thought of putting any of it in his mouth. He had eaten some rather unappetizing things in space, but somehow the thought of eating the terrestrial ‘fresh’ cuisine of the regional hospital seemed a fate worse than death.

Relena had noticed his hesitation. “Wufei gave me this, said maybe you would want to look over it when you’re feeling better,” she said, indicating a thick file folder hanging out of her oversized purse she had hooked to the back of her chair. “He said once you’re discharged you should come see him about that CAPCOM position-”

“CAPCOM?” Heero interrupted her, his eyes locked onto the file, eager to get his hands on the information inside.

“Yes. You know, Capsule Communicator-”

“I know what it means,” Heero replied with a frown. “What did Wufei mean by a _position_?”

Relena smiled. “He said when you’re discharged that, if you want to, you can come work at flight control as the ISS CAPCOM, considering you’re familiar with all of the mission particulars and repair objectives…”

“I’ll do it. Yes.” Heero sat straight up and immediately regretted it. He flopped back against his pillow with a groan, his pained voice mingling with the constant stream of conversation still broadcasting from the laptop on the table in front of him.

Despite the consuming pain from his surgery and the compounding frustrations that came with being booted from the mission he felt a surge of hope wash over his mind. Finally some positive news.

He didn’t need Relena to elaborate, he knew what Wufei was proposing. It had been many years since an astronaut grounded from a mission had taken the role of CAPCOM, the main communications officer on the ground in Houston. Typically the position was up for offer to the grounded individual, especially if the reason for their removal was for a simple medical reason. Any small illness could ground an astronaut. A common cold could become detrimental to the entire crew, especially since the human body didn’t react the same way in space as it did on Earth. Viruses and bacterial growth could easily run rampant through the crew in such a small, cramped space. It was why NASA took every precaution before flight, quarantined the crew shortly before launch, and limited their interactions with other people as they prepared for their journey off-planet.

NASA was notorious for their impeccable logistics, and this situation had a detailed and outlined plan, thanks to similar situations arising in the early days of the Apollo missions[7]. It would be easy for Heero to seamlessly join the flight controllers at Houston. With a previous mission under his belt and countless hours of logged training specific for the ISS, he was more than qualified for the task.

“When can I start?” Heero asked. He grabbed the spoon out of the creamed corn, scooped a lumpy blob from the mashed potatoes and held it aloft, inspecting it with a scowl.

“As soon as you’re feeling up to it,” Relena explained casually. She grabbed the file folder from her purse and held it on her lap. “The doctor said you can’t be discharged unless you can eat and pass the food without any issues.”

 _Shit._ Literally _._

In his lifetime of pilot training Heero had endured 10-g flight compression, grueling conditions in weighted suits, pressure chambers and various torturous forms of training but in that moment the most daunting task he had ever been given was eating the hospital’s unpalatable food.

He forced the potatoes into his mouth and tried to swallow them down as quickly as he could, spooned a few more disgusting masses in and then held his hand out for the file. Relena smiled, looking accomplished, and finally handed it to him.

The file contained profiles of all of the ISS crew, along with the Atlantis pilots, basic mission goals and various plans regarding maintenance of the station, most of which was already well known to Heero. Mission launch forgotten, Heero snapped the laptop closed and set the file on top of it, and began flipping through the pages with curiosity as he force fed himself with newfound determination.

The familiar faces of his former crewmates stared up at him with each passing profile. His Italian Commander Lucrezia Noin-Peacecraft, NASA science officers Sally Po and  Duo Maxwell, Relena’s brother Milliardo Peacecraft and-

Heero stopped at a face he had never seen before. The unfamiliar profile belonged to a Lieutenant Trowa Barton of the _Armée de l’Air_ , the French Air Force. Heero immediately noticed the rectangular ESA, or European Space Agency, patch on the left side of the new astronaut’s chest and the blue, white and red bars of the French flag as it accented his shoulder.

Unlike the apparent enthusiasm in the other team member’s profile pics, this Trowa Barton simply stared into the camera with a cool, placid expression. For being a military-commission astronaut, Trowa seemed young, his pleasantly angular, handsome face half-hidden behind long, carefully styled light auburn hair. Heero shifted on the bed, staring down at the picture, unable to look away.

“That’s the guy. The flight engineer they called in to take your spot,” Relena pointed out from beside him, obviously having noticed his interest in the new profile. “He was supposed to go up for STS-107 but they boosted him to this mission when your slot opened.”

Heero finally looked away from the profile picture and skimmed the information outlined at the bottom. All of Barton’s accomplishments were listed beneath it, including his qualifications and the levels of training he had accomplished with the ESA. One thing of particular interest to Heero was the mention of the US Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Base in California. The dates that Barton had been in attendance didn’t coincided with his own time there. He had been in the same international exchange program Heero had attended, only the other astronaut had been the French selection and had entered the program a year after he had.

He found himself studying his picture again, wondering if he had ever seen him before. Edwards was a small base, and the test pilot program even smaller.

No. If they had, Heero would have definitely remembered him.

“He seems more than capable,” Relena added as she looked over at Trowa Barton’s file. “Your team will be in good hands.”

Heero frowned. Sure, the guy looked plenty qualified on paper, but who the hell _was_ he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] JAXA: Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency, est. 2003  
> [2] The Kennedy Space Center: Cape Canaveral, Florida  
> [3] The maximum g-force experienced during NASA space shuttle launch and reentry is 3 g’s. High-g roller coasters range between 3 - 6.3 g. Fighter pilots experience up to 9 g’s when performing vertical maneuvers.  
> [4] Space Shuttle Atlantis: In service from 1985 - 2011. Flew 33 missions and carried a total of 207 crew.  
> [5] Public Affairs Officer (PAO): Provides mission commentary to supplement and explain air-to-ground transmissions and flight control operations to the news media and the public. The individual filling this role is often referred to colloquially as The Voice of Mission Control.  
> [6] Low Earth Orbit (LEO): 2,000 km (1,200 mi) or less with an orbital period between 84 - 127 minutes. The ISS orbits Earth every 90 minutes.  
> [7] Astronaut Ken Mattingly being the most notable, grounded initially from the Apollo 13 (1970) three days before mission for exposure to German Measles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Johnson Space Center** **  
** **Houston, Texas, United States** **  
** **Friday October 31, 2003**

  


“Can you even imagine what that would be like?” Relena asked as she cradled her coffee mug with both hands, her eyes studying the small, coral-colored lipstick stain she had left behind on the white lid. “In a few years everything may well be stamped with the _‘Catalonia’_ brand. Catalonia brand communication satellites, Catalonia brand space shuttles, even Catalonia freeze dried astronaut dinners.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and began digging around in her oversized purse.   
  
“Hm. I doubt her investments will go that far,” replied Heero as he pulled into the Johnson Space Center parking lot. He inched up to the guard gate and flashed his badge as they rolled through.

“I wouldn’t put anything past her. She’s resourceful, and she’s ready to make her mark on outer space.” Relena fished out a mirror and was poking at the corner of her eyelashes with a pinky finger. “Everything will be gold plated, gaudy and over the top. Gold plated space shuttles, Heero… think about it.”

Heero shrugged a shoulder as he pulled into his assigned parking spot, put the sedan in park and set the emergency brake.

“Gold atoms can scatter and absorb radiation,” he remarked as he unfastened his safety belt and grabbed his briefcase from the back seat. “So her having everything gold plated in space is actually incredibly efficient.”

“You _would_ logic her crazy,” Relena grumbled as she got out of the car, slung her purse over her shoulder and straightened her pink bedazzled lanyard around her neck so that her security card lie flush against her pale yellow, floral print sweater.

Relena always looked well polished, her nails perfectly manicured and her hair carefully done up in the latest styles. Looking sharp was part of her job. As the mission PAO she was the professional, pretty face of the current mission. Her job was to speak directly to the press and the public meet and greets, manage press releases, and basically make the mission and astronauts look good. She did her job well.

Unlike his neatly ironed and tidy companion, Heero looked like he had rolled out of bed and picked up the first thing he had encountered on his floor. Relena hadn’t said anything about his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance that morning, but he did notice her giving him a curious once over while they were stuck in Houston’s rush hour traffic. It wasn’t until they had buzzed into the building that she reached over, grabbed him by his dark green tie and forced him to a stop so she could straighten it.

“Out partying late last night?” She asked with a tight smile while she smoothed out the front of his wrinkled shirt, her hands carefully straightening the crisp white cotton fabric with friendly familiarity.

Heero frowned. He knew that it was a weighted question and not just a casual inquiry. Despite the friendly gesture and forced smile he knew that she was wondering whether he was up late with someone else.

It had been a few weeks since he and Relena had stopped officially dating, though they both had mutually agreed on being friends. It had been an ambitious plan and slowly Heero was beginning to see the complications that came with continuing a close friendship with a coworker, someone had been sexually intimate with, and a woman he had once even considered spending the rest of his life with. It was proving difficult to cut ties and go back to ‘friend mode’, especially since they hadn’t had much of a casual friendship before things had gotten to the level of being seriously committed.

It was also difficult to set and maintain boundaries with someone he had grown so close and familiar with. Even after discussing the dos and don’ts of their new arrangement they were still occasionally crossing the line.

It was clear that Relena wasn’t taking the break up as well as she was letting on. Small comments and the occasional intimate gesture broke through their mutually constructed wall.

He couldn’t be mad at her, or even blame her for the occasional hurtful statement or negative comment. It had been his request to break up in the first place. The failure of their two-year long relationship had been his fault. Relena had been gracious enough to accept that something had changed about him and was willing to let it go without much of a fight. He knew that he had been making her miserable these last few weeks. He had been distant, preoccupied. He wasn’t able to focus on her- on _them_ anymore. She had assumed it was something that _she_ had done. The typical scenario played out. She had accused him of cheating, and pointed out that he suddenly seemed so _turned off_ by her. Finally, after nearly a week of arguing, long drawn out phone calls and her tears staining his shirt she had finally told him she couldn’t go on angsting over him anymore. She couldn’t be with someone so distant. She needed the ‘old’ Heero back.

The problem was that he couldn’t give her what she wanted. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to change. While they were comfortable with one another and in the past he had divulged everything to her, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her what had actually happened.

She had accused him of having someone else and she wanted to know if she knew them. The only thing he could tell her was that he needed his space, and he needed time to work through his own confusion.

Heero couldn’t tell her the truth. He didn’t know how to put the reality of his situation into words. He couldn’t understand it himself, and he didn’t want to hurt her or confuse her in the process of exploring his own uncooperative feelings.

“No parties,” Heero finally replied to her question. He made no move to stop her from touching him. She needed to feel like she had control in their break-up and he knew that her small gestures were a way of coping; gradually weaning herself off of the familiarity and comfort of their old habits.

“You really should have ironed this shirt,” Relena muttered as she tugged at a crease that ran down the center of his chest. “Or at least some of that wrinkle release spray… this looks terrible.”

“It’s not like anyone is going to _see_ me today, anyway,” Heero replied with a frown. He sat behind a desk for nine hours a day, and could have cared less what anyone thought else of him.

“Well I’m seeing you, and it’s offensive,” Relena teased, her hands finally dropping away from the hopeless mess that was Heero’s shirt. “You don’t have time to do laundry, or?”

Heero sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I do. The bar in my closet broke off of it’s holder last night and all of my clothes were on the floor this morning. I don’t own an iron…” He typically dropped his clothes off at the dry cleaner once a week to be cleaned and pressed.

“Oh. And here I thought you were up last night, too _busy_ with your mystery person to get ready for work,” Relena replied. She straightened her badge again, finished her coffee and tossed her cup in the nearest wastebin. “How is that going, anyway?”   
  
Heero frowned and shrugged his bag strap higher up his shoulder. He had never verified that there was another person to Relena, but he hadn’t denied it either. The situation was unusual, and he didn’t know how to explain it to her. There _was_ someone else, only that someone else didn’t _know_ that they were HIS _‘someone else’_ yet. Heero doubted that this ‘someone’ would _ever_ come to _know_ it, anyway.

“There’s nothing to report,” Heero finally mumbled, his dark blue eyes narrowing. Whether Relena believed him or not, he didn’t care. He checked his watch. He had five minutes to get down to the Blue Flight Control Room for change of shift reports. “I’ve got to go.”

“Alright. Thanks for the ride,” she called after him as he hurried down the hallway to the control room.

 

* * *

 

Working at the Johnson Space Center’s Mission Control Center (MCC) wasn’t Heero’s dream job. It wasn’t what he had planned for his future or what he had trained for years to do. He hadn’t expected to find himself sitting at a desk in the ISS flight control room, grounded, stuck watching through a monitor while other astronauts performed the tasks he had trained for hours in the Neutral Buoyancy Lab to do. He hated being stagnant, stuck in one place, with his only connection to the International Space Station being through a headset microphone and a computer.

The first few weeks of mind-numbing, boring surveillance of the station had been performed with bitterness. It should have been _him_ up there with the crew that he had trained with for nearly a year. He should have been flying beside his colleagues; officers he had lived for 6 months alongside on a previous excursion. HE was supposed to be the flight engineer, the person responsible for the upkeep, maintenance and repair of the space station, NOT his watered down and inexperienced replacement.

Five days before mission departure his appendix had become infected, threatening to burst. Unexpectedly, while he was out having dinner with Relena, he had a sharp pain in his abdomen, became nauseous and had passed out on the walk to the parking lot. The next thing he knew he had been laid out on a gurney with the mission SURGEON[1] Wufei Chang telling him he was no longer part of the mission.

He had been grounded, ripped off of the team and quickly replaced by Lieutenant Trowa Barton, his ESA equivalent.

Heero had been angry and frustrated with the change. When mission control had offered him a position as the primary CAPCOM he had immediately accepted, desperate to be useful to the crew. However, before now he couldn’t have imagined himself coming in to sit at a desk every day.

While it was rewarding in its own way, he was constantly being taunted with the fact that he had been expendable and easily replaced.

It had been less than a month since he began working as day-shift mission CAPCOM, and in such a short time a lot of things had changed for Heero. He had learned to be more humble about his abilities. Being taken from his place in the stars and strapped to a desk chair had given him a new perspective on life, a new appreciation for the work that went on behind the scenes at mission control, and a better understanding of his colleagues and their unique abilities. Even his French replacement, who he had grown to respect and admire.

Trowa Barton was an incredible astronaut. Heero had spent the last few weeks watching him work and do the tasks that he himself had been trained to perform.

Trowa’s on the job performance was admirable, and Heero had found himself becoming more and more approving of him as time passed. Soon that approval had transformed into appreciation and respect. However, before Heero knew it he had developed a deep, quiet admiration; a feeling that had begun to haunt him even when he went home for the day. When he was off the clock and with Relena.

He couldn’t stop his new feelings from growing. Eventually Heero found himself thinking about his astronaut replacement constantly, and he would become anxious when he couldn’t get to work to see him. He began to look forward to their conversations over the COM. For twelve hours a day he had watched and listened in on the placid flight engineer. Despite Trowa’s quiet, reserved demeanor Heero could tell what his moods were by subtle, simple nonverbal cues. When Trowa was frustrated he would run his hand through his hair, or tap his fingers against his thigh as he spoke. When he was tired he had a habit of worrying his lower lip with his teeth and his eyes became half-lidded as he spoke. When he was anxious his voice would become flatter, his sentences more terse as his tension built.

Heero had found himself admiring how Trowa floated effortlessly down the narrow tunnels that connected the modules of the station, twisting his long and lithe body through portholes, easily curling and turning down various maintenance halls and chambers. He had come to appreciate every little movement; the way his long bangs hung weighless beside his face as he reported off into the camera, the faint rosy blush of his cheeks after a short stint of exercise on the stationary treadmill, and the way his shoulders squared elegantly beneath his sweatshirt while he propped himself in front of the circular windows on the station’s navigation cupola as the ship witnessed countless sunrises and sunsets.

Trowa was the person who had come between him and Relena. At some point Heero had become obsessed with his replacement. Nobody knew. He couldn’t bring himself to confide this fact to anyone, least of all Trowa. It was a secret Heero carried with him every day he came in to work.

Heero ducked into a nearby meeting room to receive his change of shift report from the other CAPCOM, Bernadette Spears. After half an hour of mundane reporting he thanked her and sulked out into the hall to grab a coffee, plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and then ducked into the Blue Flight Control room. He took a seat at his desk,  coated his hand with Purell and reached into a drawer to grab a Clorox wipe to begin his morning sanitizing ritual. A loud, judgemental snort sounded from behind him.

“You’re not afraid of being ripped away from Earth’s gravity to be sent out into the full blast of the Sun’s radiation, but you’re afraid of a little Rhinovirus?”

Heero looked over his shoulder and saw Chang Wufei standing beside his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. He was smirking at him, obviously amused, peering at him through his large, round prescription glasses.

“I _choose_ to face those factors,” Heero replied before returning to his task of sanitizing his workspace. “I _know_ what I’m facing when I go up there. I don’t _know_ what kind of miscellaneous petri dish Bernadette has made of this desk.”

Wufei laughed. “You’re wise to be cautious. She was sniffing and snorting quite a bit today.”

Heero frowned, tossed the wipe in the trash and pumped another squirt of hand sanitizer into his hands, just in case.  
  
“You didn’t notice it during her report at change of shift?” Wufei asked with a smile. He crossed the narrow aisle to Heero’s desk and stood beside his chair, eyeing the data streaming across his array of computer screens.

“It was difficult to tell between her asking me to the movies, and then grilling me about why Relena and I aren’t dating anymore.” Heero grabbed his headset from the drawer, plugged it in and fished around in his bag for his breakfast.

“Why don’t you give her a chance? Or are you scared holding hands with her would give you Ebola?”

“Shut up, Wufei.”

The Chinese man chuckled, made his way back to his desk and vanished behind its high divider wall. “Don’t forget the broadcast this afternoon,” Wufei called out cheerfully from his desk.

The realization hit Heero like an errant asteroid impact. “Shit,” he muttered, then blinked when he realized that his headset was activated and he had been actively streaming across the open COM.

Duo, the mission’s primary science officer, floated on screen, grinning into the camera.

 _“No-no. Tell us how you really feel, CAPCOM!”_ The American astronaut laughed as he passed by, arms full of technical manual binders.

 

* * *

 

“Tell them to prepare for open connection and broadcast, five minutes and counting.”

Heero glanced over his shoulder at the pushy man who stood diagonally behind him. He had spent the entire first half of his shift listening to this MSNBC representative nitpick and lord over all of the Mission Control Center staff until everyone was red-faced and irritated, ready for this month’s broadcast to be over. Every last Friday of the month NASA partnered with MSNBC to stream a fifteen-minute interactive live broadcast from the crew of the International Space Station to the local public schools in Houston, Texas. The Mission Control Center staff loathed ISS!LIVE broadcasts, and it wasn’t uncommon for many of the non-essential staffers to call out sick or to schedule their conveniently planned family emergencies on that day.

“Is anyone even listening to me?!” the media rep exclaimed as he paced down the rows of empty desks in search of someone to annoy.

Heero saw their resident Chief of Space Medicine Chang Wufei at his console directly behind him. The Chinese man ducked his scowling face down behind his “SURGEON” placard in an attempt to hide from the obnoxious T.V. rep.

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell them,” the man asked impatiently. As he leaned over Heero’s control panel his hand landed on his keyboard. Heero’s eyebrow twitched uncontrollably and he summoned his self control to keep from slamming his fist against the pompous prick’s nose. It was common knowledge that touching Heero’s desk was absolutely forbidden. The MSNBC rep had been forewarned, and yet he still insisted on encroaching upon Heero’s console every chance he could.

The media man was lucky that Heero was still somewhat fond of their Public Relations Officer, otherwise he would have knocked him flat on his ass already. He could see Relena looking at him apologetically from behind her clipboard at her work station in the rear of the room.

He tapped the side of his headset to activate his microphone. **_“Five minutes before broadcast,”_ ** he spoke flatly into it, paused and glanced at the synchronized digital clock on his desk that read UTC time. **_“More accurately, four minutes, five seconds and counting…”_ **

Heero looked up and past the sour face of the media rep at the square, center image on the giant display monitor at the head of the room where the live video feed from the ISS was being broadcasted. Science Officer Duo Maxwell and Flight Engineer Trowa Barton were both floating in the center of the screen in the Columbus laboratory waiting for their cue to start.

Both men seemed eager to participate in the Q&A sessions for the school children. When Heero had been on the ISS the year before he remembered how dull and repetitive the daily routine could be. Most astronauts jumped at the chance of being able to talk about their work, and the enthusiasm of school children was often very inspiring.

“Roger that, Houston,” Duo’s voice replied cheerfully over the Mission Control general speakers, his braid floating up and around his head like a tail eagerly wagging. He wore a dark blue NASA zip-up jumpsuit and a pair of fake, black thick-rimmed costume glasses. His suit appeared as if it were too tight, which led Heero to suspect that he was wearing something layered beneath it.

It was Halloween, and the team had been encouraged to dress up for that day’s broadcast, and it was clear that Duo’s actual costume was beneath his uniform. Trowa, on the other hand, was sitting cross-legged with his arms folded over his chest, free-floating beside Duo wearing his grey ESA polo and fitted khaki slacks. A shiny, neon green bopper alien antenna headband was perched atop his head. The two glittery balls on the ends of the springs swung and swayed slowly, almost comically, in the microgravity every time he turned his head. His expression was its usual placid and serious calm, which made the scene all the more comical.

Heero resisted the urge to smirk like an idiot in front of the media rep. He leaned back in his seat at his station, crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the broadcast to start. _Two-minutes thirty-seven seconds,_ he thought to himself as he glanced at the clock.

While everyone else at mission control avoided the flight control room when the ISS!Live broadcasts were being conducted Heero always stayed. The media rep may have been a challenge to deal with, but the irritation was worth it as long as his colleagues in space had their fifteen minutes a month to let loose, relax and inspire the next generation.

The clock was ticking down. He tapped his headset again, “ **_We’re going live in five, four, three, two, one…”_ **

“Hello, future astronauts, and welcome to International Space Station LIVE!” Duo exclaimed enthusiastically. He gave a playful salute into the camera. “I’m Duo Maxwell, and this is my pal Trowa Barton, and this month we’re gonna be answering some questions from,” he glanced down at a sheet of paper in his hand. “River Oaks Elementary School, Miss Lovell’s fifth grade class. How ‘bout you answer the first question, Mork?”

Trowa nodded, grabbed his ears and looked into the camera. “Nanu nanu,” he replied plainly.

The media representative had provided Heero with last minute questions taken over the phone from the classroom, transcribed in a barely legible handwriting. He squinted down at the first question.

 **“Allison Cox wants to know: ‘Do the astronauts do their own laundry on the space station?’”** Heero read aloud.

“Ah, good question,” Trowa replied with a faint smile. “Unlike the humans of Earth, we astronauts aren’t required to do laundry. When our clothes get dirty we shoot them into the atmosphere, where they burn up.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at Duo, who was pushing his fake glasses up his nose and nodding in agreement. “If you happen to see bright green shooting stars at night, they’re probably Duo’s dirty socks.”

“Hey, now!” Duo replied with a laugh. He leaned into the camera and smiled. “That’s not true at all. They don’t burn green, they’re laden with sulfur, so they’ll be burnin’ bright blue.”

“It seems wasteful, but washing requires a lot of energy, space and extra water that we just don’t have up here on the space station. It’s actually more efficient to just dispose of them,” Trowa added.

“Good questions, good questions!” Duo chirped. “Next question!”

Heero squinted down at the list. **_“Joshua Pritt wants to know, ‘Who is your favorite astronaut and why?’”_ **

Duo snorted, his violet-hued eyes rolled playfully as he jerked a thumb at Trowa. _“_ This guy right here, I can already answer your question for ya. He's a Buzz Aldrin fanboy, and me, I like Yuri Gagarin in best. Technically he was a Russian cosmonaut, not technically an astronaut. Anyway,” he was rambling. He cleared his throat and pushed his costume glasses up his nose thoughtfully. “Good ole Yuri was the first human to go to outer space. Spent an hour and forty-eight minutes up there [2]. Imagine how scary it must have been to be the FIRST, not knowing what could happen. He was smart, intelligent and super brave. That's why I like Yuri best. The guy paved the way for the rest of us.”

“Okay, buddy, tell ‘em why you just love Buzz so much.” Duo reached over to clap a hand on Trowa's shoulder. In doing so the taller astronaut was sent careening down to the floor. He caught himself on a nearby handle before he hit the floor and gently glided back up into the frame.

Heero knew that Trowa loved Buzz Aldrin[3]. All of their colleagues knew it. Although the quiet astronaut didn't typically gush openly about his idol, when he did it was typically a passionate, thorough response. They'd had a few casual conversations over the COM discussing things like preference in music, history, and old stories. Everything Trowa seemed to do was somehow linked to Buzz Aldrin. It was clear that his entire professional career was inspired by the life of the Apollo 11 astronaut. Like Aldrin, Trowa had trained at the U.S. National Test Pilot School before pursuing his career with the ESA and NASA.

“That’s right, my favorite astronaut is Colonel Aldrin,” Trowa replied. He looked into the camera. Heero could see the faint stirring of Trowa’s passion about his occupation reflected on his normally stoic face.

“He was a great man, served in the Korean War, was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. He was the first astronaut to hold a Ph.D., the second man to walk on the Moon, and the first of so many other things I honestly don’t have time to tell…”

“You’re right, we’ve got no time! Next question!” Duo interjected loudly.

Heero sighed and looked down at the clock. They didn’t have time, which was a shame, because it wasn’t often that Trowa opened up on camera like that. **_“Dinah Rolls asks, ‘How big is the space station, and who fixes things when they break?”_ **

Trowa smiled. It was a question obviously directed at him. _“_ The International Space Station is 32,333 cubic feet of pressurized volume and weighs 930,000 pounds. It has 8 miles of wiring. We all work together to fix things when they’re broken, but as flight engineer it is my job to maintain the space station and to repair and replace parts as needed.”

“Yeah, he’s our resident mechanic! The guy is like a galactic MacGyver with a roll of duct tape,” Duo added with a chuckle.

“All astronaut tool boxes have grey tape - kind of like duct tape, and something we call Kapton tape, or polyimide tape, which is kind of like the black electrical tape you have on Earth but better. So when you fix something at home with duct tape you’re doing the job just as well as we astronauts,” Trowa added, his green alien headband wiggling cheerfully.

 **_“We have time for one final question,”_ ** Heero informed them over the com as he glanced at his clock. The media rep was hovering over his shoulder and jabbed the second to last question on the list. Heero tensed and read over the question with a frown. _‘How do you go to the bathroom in space’_ was such a juvenile and ridiculous question, one that was asked time and time again. Despite the representative’s demand Heero cleared his throat and picked what he thought was a better question.

 **_“Amy Hughes asks, ‘What do astronauts do for fun while on the ISS?’”_ ** Heero asked. He felt the annoying man behind him nudge the back of his chair angrily. Heero didn’t care. If he had to hear Duo talk about adult space diapers one more time he was going to kill someone. He watched as Trowa smirked and glanced over at Duo, who was free floating lazily beside him with a shit eating grin on his face. Heero knew he had asked the right question.

“We do all sorts of fun stuff!” Duo exclaimed happily as he pushed his fake glasses up his nose. “Because we’re in microgravity some of the stuff that you’d do on Earth is easier and a lot more fun. Trowa here can throw a football down the center of the ship to me with hardly any effort.”

“Yes. A lot of us read books, magazines or play cards. During my leisure time I like to watch the sunrise and sunset. Within a single 24 hour period we have 16 sunrises and sunsets,” Trowa explained casually.  
  
“We eat snacks, watch movies, and listen to music- just like anyone else, really,” Duo added. He smiled  and unzipped the front of his suit to reveal a pair of Superman themed pajamas beneath, complete with a long, flowing red cape. He tossed off his glasses and sent them floating up to the ceiling, grabbed a bag of M&M’s from the wall and opened it, shook it and sent the colorful candies scattering through the air before he proceeded to send himself diving through the air like a porpoise to catch each one with his mouth, mimicking  Superman in flight. His cape and long braid hung suspended behind him.

 **_“Ten seconds,”_ ** Heero informed them.

Duo nodded and waved into the camera. “Thanks for watching ISS LIVE! Happy Halloween from the International Space Station!”

The MSNBC man was practically leaning against the back of Heero’s chair. **_“3, 2, 1 and cut transmission.”_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Flight Surgeon (SURGEON): Directs all medical activities during the mission. Monitors crew health via telemetry, provides crew consultation, and advises the flight director. A private communication channel can be established between astronauts and the flight surgeon, to provide doctor-patient confidentiality.  
> [2] Yuri Gagarin: Soviet cosmonaut who completed the world’s first manned orbit of Earth on 12, April 2961 in the Soviet Union’s Vostok spacecraft.  
> [3] Buzz Aldrin: an American engineer and former astronaut. As the Lunar Module Pilot on Apollo 11, he was one of the first two humans to land on the Moon, and the second person to walk on it.


	3. Chapter 3

# 

**_International Space Station_ ** ****  
**_Low Earth Orbit, Space_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Tuesday November 18, 2003_**

 

At night the earth came alive with human activity. Golden and amber light spider-webbed across the globe, illuminating the landscape, clearly defining geological features. Concentrations of sparkles indicated developed areas, increased numbers in population that faded into darkness over rural land. It was a magical sight.

A lone astronaut floated silently below the domed windows of the cupola, the observation module on the ISS, patiently waiting while his eyes surveyed the dark horizon. He knew a spectacular show was about to unfold, enhancing the already breathtaking view. It was one he’d been fortunate to witness hundreds of times before, and it never grew old.

With the swipe of his thumb, gaze still glued to the window, Trowa selected the ‘sunrise/sunset’ playlist on his 3rd generation iPod and carefully adjusted his earbuds.

The slow, ambient music of _Moby_ started to play and, as if on cue, a thin blue light shown from behind the planet, creating an otherworldly glow that spread across its edge. Trowa watched as an orange dot peaked through the halo, growing larger with each second until it took the form of a sunburst. Spiky, bright rays of light broke free and the sun slowly rose above the earth, no longer hidden within its shadow.

Watching the earth come alive, the sun bringing warmth and light to its surface, would forever be one of the most beautiful things he had ever witnessed.

The ISS was currently orbiting over the sleepy countries of Europe. If Trowa squinted he could make out the rivers that flowed through France. He followed their lines until they directed his gaze to the glittering city of Paris. A smile crept across his face. _Home._

You didn’t have to be homesick to miss your home and family. Trowa _wasn’t_ homesick, but that didn’t stop him from glancing longingly at Paris as he orbited by. He knew he would return soon. But for now he was at home in space, a place he was falling more in love with every day.

Already his body was fully adjusted to the weightlessness experienced on the space station, and getting around had become second nature. The views of Earth were unforgettable, worth all the years of training he had endured to get up here, and the constant flow of work was challenging but rewarding. Right now, in this moment as he gazed down at the earth, Trowa knew he was where he belonged, that he had been born for the purpose of space exploration. It was in his blood.

His father had been an engineer for the _Centre National d'Etudes Spatiales_ , the French government space agency. When Trowa was little they would go to the neighborhood park late at night to watch the stars. He’d curl up in his father’s lap and look up at the endless sea of stars while Alan Barton told him stories about famous astronauts like Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Yuri Gagarin and John Glenn. He would learn about constellations and the distant planets that made up their solar system. Neptune was Trowa’s favorite. By age 3 he was already learning how to use a telescope, and thus his passion for space began.

Trowa averted his gaze from earth, looking to the west where the blackness of outer space spread. Celestial bodies littered the void, illuminating the neverending expanse, giving his eyes something to focus on.  _Magnificent desolation_ _…_ Trowa thought Buzz Aldrin had been right about the view.

He spotted a rather large star and watched as it twinkled off in the far distance. His father used to tell him that whenever a hero died a new star was born, a bright beacon shining in memoriam for all eternity. Out of the millions of stars that lived in their galaxy he wondered which one was his father’s...

Lost to his thoughts Trowa barely noticed his watch gently buzzing against his wrist. He tore his gaze away from the window and looked down. It was 20:00 back at home and he had scheduled a call for 20:15. The rest of the sunrise would have to go on without him.

Trowa pocketed his iPod and made his way through the cluttered, narrow tunnels of the ISS. It was quiet. The other astronauts were likely in their pods winding down for the night.

His suspicions were correct. As he entered the module that housed four of the crew quarters, the narrow closets in which the astronauts slept, he noticed that the others were already closed off and sealed for the evening. The only open pod was his own with his name tape velcroed to the top. He slipped easily into the rectangular space, no larger than a small closet, grabbed the accordion door and slid it closed behind him.

What few personal belongings he kept were stuck to the inside walls, a laptop mounted to one wall on a stand with various technologies plugged in and affixed here and there. Trowa tugged his earbuds from his ears, wrapped them around his iPod and slid it into a holder overhead as he booted up his laptop to prepare his satellite connection for his scheduled call.

A microphone headset was soon retrieved from a tether fastened to the padded wall beside him, slipped over his head and adjusted over his mouth. A few keystrokes later he was connected to the private communications terminal all astronauts were entitled to use for non-official business. The connection would take a minute to finalize. He could hear the faint clicking and buzzing of the line being primed. Eventually there was a pause, a long silence and then a sound like someone clearing their throat.

“Hold a minute,” a familiar voice said flatly over the line. A shuffling sound, a click and then a faint sigh. Unfamiliar voices rose in the background and mingled in his ears for a moment before there was silence once again.

Trowa waited patiently while the voice he meant to speak to exchanged incoherent conversation with someone in the background.

“Alright. Connection secured. This is Heero,” as if there was any doubt who that voice belonged to, “... are you there?”

“I’m here,” Trowa was amused by Heero’s serious, flat voice. “Is now still an alright time to talk?”

“Yeah. Of course it is.” Heero looked over his shoulder as he cradled his satellite phone in hand, glancing back at the party he had just escaped from.

Wufei and Quatre were standing together beside the buffet table, filling their plates as they tried to appear busy so as to avoid Miss Dorothy Catalonia, who was using the book signing and dinner party event at Houston mission control to network and promote her personal space capsule shipping business, Catalonia Enterprises. Heero had been checking his watch for the last two hours, waiting to use Trowa’s call as his scapegoat.

“Buzz Aldrin’s book event,” Heero explained as he ducked around the corner and settled against a wall in an empty corridor. “You… like him, don’t you?” Heero, of course, knew that Trowa did, it was a popular fact. He tucked a copy of Aldrin’s new book under his arm. It was signed and addressed to Trowa.

“You’re not missing much,” Heero finally added, his hand nervously raking through his hair. “He only stayed an hour. Catalonia is here. You’re doing me a favor by calling me.”

Trowa could hear the relief in Heero’s voice. “Buzz Aldrin? I have _no idea_ who that is. That event sounds boring.” He lied, pressing his body back against the wall and gripping a handlebar to keep from floating upwards. A part of him was sad that he couldn’t be there for the book signing. Buzz Aldrin was his childhood hero, and everyone knew he still admired the retired astronaut, even if he didn't necessarily agree with some of Aldrin's political views or personal life choices.  

“I won’t keep you long. I know you’re eager to rejoin Dorothy's company.” An obvious tease. “I just wanted to ask you something…” His voice trailed off and he bit his bottom lip. “If you can do something for me.” Trowa _hated_ asking for favors, but he had to ask Heero.

Heero narrowed his eyes at the floor and he pressed his hand against his ear to muffle the sounds of the party down the hallway. “Do something? Like what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. It’s not serious,” Trowa quickly squashed any worry that arose. “I just need someone to go and check on my place until I get back. I had a friend stopping by once a week, but a family emergency came up and she had to leave town indefinitely. If it’s not too much of a hassle...”

Aside from making sure there were no break-ins, Trowa needed someone to water his plants and collect his mail. That was it. He had thought about asking Quatre for the favor, but the blonde was house sitting for Noin and Milliardo, NASA’s newlywed astronaut couple, and Trowa didn’t want to burden him further.

He was aware that it was a strange question to ask someone he’d never technically met in person before, but because he was new to the Houston area he didn’t have a lot of close connections. Heero, who he talked to on an almost a daily basis, was the only other person he could trust.

 _“Sure. Yeah…”_ Heero nodded, even though there was nobody there to see the gesture. “Of course I can do that. You live down by Houston Heights, right?” He asked with a sigh, frowning as the noise from the party intruded upon their conversation again.

“Yes. My spare key is with the building management. I can email them and let them know I grant you access to my apartment while I’m away.” Trowa bit the inside of his mouth and looked up at the ‘ceiling’ of his pod. There was really no ‘up’ or ‘down’ in space, and sometimes it made the astronauts feel disoriented. With a shake of his head Trowa looked back at the glowing screen of his laptop.

Did he sense disappointment in Heero’s tone? Was that a sigh? “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Please don’t feel obligated.”

“No. It’s okay, no problem. I don’t live far from there at all. Just mail? How often do you want me to go by there? You have any pets…?”

“Plants. There are a few in my living room, one in my kitchen window, and one in my bedroom. If you swing by once a week that should be just fine. Thank you, Heero. I really owe you.” Trowa was relieved. His NASA relocation specialist had picked his neighborhood and apartment out for him, but he hadn’t spent any time exploring the area. Knowing that someone would be checking in on his place gave him much needed peace of mind.

“Okay.” Heero paused and scowled as a figure turned the corner. He looked up and saw Wufei peering at him with an expectant expression. He shook his head and turned his back to him. “There’s just one problem…How… uh… you know what, nevermind. So, that’s it?” Heero asked hesitantly.

Trowa wasn’t ready to end the call. Sleep felt like a distant dream and the other’s voice was surprisingly calming and magnetic, pulling him in, making him want to hear more. But Heero was at an event and Trowa was trying to be considerate of his time. “Yes, that’s it.”

“Okay. Consider it done.” Another awkward, long pause. “You can call me anytime, you know, if you need anything else.”

“You talk to me almost every day, CAPCOM. I would think you’d get tired of hearing my voice.” Trowa chuckled softly.

“No, I don’t get tired of it,” Heero admitted.

“...Oh?” What did that mean? Trowa wet his lower lip with his tongue and held his breath, waiting to see if Heero would elaborate. This always seemed to happen. They would say things to each other that could be taken in more than one way. It confused Trowa, but it also intrigued him.  

The silence between them seemed to manifest, the darkness lingering through the receiver, caressing them both, stroking their unspoken words in an attempt to make them speak what was clearly on their minds. Neither added anything else. What _was_ there to say?

“It’s just nice to have another astronaut to talk to who shares the same past as I have. I don’t have many people here in mission control who I can relate to,” Heero explained softly, the statement much more personal than usual. “If that makes sense…” He finished lamely.

“It makes perfect sense.” Trowa answered, letting his breath out. Heero’s education and career path were so similar to his own; both of them having been foreign exchange students in college, going off to train at Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base, and then pursuing positions with NASA and the ESA. They had a lot in common.

Heero didn’t seem in any hurry to get back to the party, so Trowa figured he’d take advantage of the moment and continue talking. He let go of the handle and allowed his body to float away from the wall. It wouldn’t go far. The room was cramped and restrictive. “… Do you miss flying?”

Dorothy’s distinctive laughter echoed from the end of the hallway, causing Heero to involuntarily cringe. It was clear she was getting closer. He reflexively began to walk away, down the hall in the opposite direction of the party.

“I do. After I was grounded I considered going back to do some work with the Navy, thinking I could fly a few missions or work as an instructor at the Test Pilot Academy at Edwards but they told me if I don’t keep my training certifications up to date here in Houston that I would be disqualified for the next mission,” Heero explained, his enthusiasm of their new topic obvious. “-but I feel like I’ve met my greatest potential as a pilot. I don’t think I’ve hit my limit in space yet. What about you?” He found a meeting room with large, blinded windows and slid inside, not bothering to turn on the lights. He made his way to the blinds and leaned against the window frame in an attempt to get better reception.

“I miss it, but you’re right. There isn’t enough time to do both. I’ve been dreaming about the stars since I was a baby... At least that’s what my mother likes to say.” Trowa ran a hand through his bangs and watched as they floated away from his face, exposing both of his emerald green eyes. “Still… it would be nice to take a Rafale[1] out once in awhile.”

“You don’t miss the T-38s?” Heero asked casually, making mention of the Northrop T-38 Talon[2] that all test pilots who attended Edwards Air Force Base were trained to pilot. “I saw in your profile you went there, too.” Their piloting careers were very similar.

“They were fun to take out for a spin. Yes, I attended test pilot school there after college. You must have attended a different year?” Trowa hadn’t seen Heero on campus.

“I graduated right before you came in, yeah.” Heero shifted in his seat and sighed as he recalled his year-long training course in the middle of the California desert. “I had never seen a rattlesnake until I went there. The first time was when I was taking the chock blocks from one of the jets. It nearly took a bite out of my hand... How did you like that school?”

“It was rigorous but I loved it. Honestly, I had more fun there than I did sitting in lecture halls at University.” Trowa recalled fondly. Listening to a teacher drone on and on for hours about statistics in a stuffy, over packed room would never compare to the thrill of flying, racing through the sky at neck breaking speeds. “Aside from the T-38s, do you know what I miss the most? That shitty old GOLDWING TOP GUN inspired pinball machine pushed against the corner of the rec room in the dorms. Did you ever play it?”

Heero smirked. “Yeah. I did. Probably obsessively… I wonder if my score was up there when you went. I had the top score for the entire year I attended.”

“Wait,” Trowa paused, eyes growing wide with shock. “ _You’re_ ‘Monday’?!”

Trowa had tried beating that damn score his entire year there. It had become a personal goal-an obsession he had worked towards during the odd hours of the night when he couldn’t sleep. He could still hear the corny 8-bit 80’s music that chimed whenever the metal ball shot across the sloping board, hitting various targets. His favorite part was when you scored big and Iceman’s voice would call out _‘You can be my wingman any time.’_ , to which Trowa would respond, _“bullshit, you can be mine!”_ He secretly loved that cheesy, godawful movie.  

Despite his persistence he was never able to beat the top score. At least he held the second place spot, which was only 63 points behind _Monday’s_.

“So you  _have_ heard of me? The only reason I got such a high score was because I always wore my lucky aviator glasses. I’m not a very superstitious person, but they always seemed to help when I played.” Heero explained. “I still have those aviators in a trunk at home.”

There was another pause before Heero spoke again. “I’m glad my score was still posted. I guess I  _did_ leave my mark. I didn’t go out much. They gave me Monday as a call sign. You know- Mondays are no fun and nobody likes them.”

“I haven’t met anyone who _doesn’t_ like you.” Trowa thought the title was unfitting. Then again, he didn’t know Heero that well. Maybe he was no fun to be around? Somehow Trowa doubted that.

“My call sign was ‘Yesterday’. After The Beatles song.” Trowa was always listening to music and when some of his classmates found out he could sign and play the guitar, and that he was a huge fan of The Beatles, the call sign had come naturally. He loved music almost as much as he loved space.

“…They also called me Yesterday because they thought I was an overachiever, always getting my tasks done ahead of time.” Trowa added with a shrug. He couldn’t help that he was a hard worker and not one to procrastinate. His friends would ask, _‘Hey, did you finish that assignment that’s due next week?’_ And his response would often be, _‘yea, I finished it yesterday.’_  

Heero smirked. “I like that.”

They were definitely alike in many ways. Both had a reputation for being overachievers, for working hard, and had been the top candidates of their respective organizations. It was difficult as an international pilot to be accepted to the American flight academies, especially at the Edwards Air Base Test Pilot School. The competition to get in was notoriously fierce.

“You keep contact with your mother? Do your parents live in France?” Heero hadn’t even considered the fact that Trowa would have family back home, especially since he himself had only his mother and had been estranged by his own father.

“My family is in France, yes.” Trowa’s mother and sister still lived in Paris. He wasn’t close to his mother. Pauline Barton had never been a nurturing, motherly figure. She was nice, but wasn’t interested in raising her kids, preferring the company of a full glass of wine to two needy offspring. That was until her only son had gotten a job at NASA and was off doing ‘amazing’ and ‘fame-worthy’ things. Now Mrs. Barton suddenly wanted to be a part of his life again.

A fatal car crash had taken his father away from him when Trowa was only 8. He could still remember that night vividly, the rush to this hospital, his father’s last words to him. _‘Make something of yourself, son.’_ They had shaped who Trowa was today, giving him purpose and direction...

That left Catherine, Trowa’s older sister, who had practically raised him. Naturally he was closest to her. She was his best friend and he shared everything with her. It had been a hard decision to move to the United States and pursue his educational and career goals because it meant living thousands of miles away from her.

“I’ve never been to France,” Heero admitted. “Or anywhere in Europe for that matter. However, I took a year of French in university.” He paused and appeared to be gathering his thoughts. “ _Je ne parle pas très bien le français._ ” He couldn’t speak it well at all.

Heero sighed and for a moment looked through the blinds out at the late evening sky, hardly dark due to the lights from the city. “I hope I’m not holding you up.” A long silence. “I enjoy talking to you,” He admitted boldly, not wanting the other astronaut to think that he was bothering him.

Trowa’s soft chuckle traveled through the connection. “I kind of got that feeling,” he admitted with a smirk. There it was again. Heero had said something that seemed to have a deeper meaning. Unless he was reading too far into things…

“The party doesn’t seem to be that exciting, but I should let you get back to it. I’m sure your date is wondering where you are?” The gossip about Heero and Relena’s failed relationship hadn’t reached the ISS yet.

Heero swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. So, I’ll get your address from HR and I’ll check in by the end of the week…” He cleared his throat, moistened his suddenly dry lower lip with his tongue and frowned. “I’ll give you a report on the status of your apartment and plants weekly.”

Report? Was this guy serious? Trowa shook his head, amused. “You really don’t have to do that. Just let me know if one of my plants acts up or steps out of line.” He let the smile linger. “And I will email you my address before I go to sleep tonight.” It would be much easier than going through all of HR’s protocols to obtain personal information.

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” Heero nodded and felt suddenly very awkward. “Goodnight then.” Suddenly he was plunged back into reality, his head ripped from the clouds and the station floating somewhere overhead and plummeted back into the conference room he had sought refuge in. With hesitation he pulled the phone from his ear and hung it up, staring at the blackened screen. The sound of giggling from the hallway, then the door to the abandoned room burst open and two figures stumbled inside, slammed the door and became intertwined against it. Heavy breathing, a woman giggling, and a man’s low, hoarse voice groaning filled the room.

Heero recognized that giggle. He stood quickly, his sudden movement alerting the two intruders. “Excuse me,” he snapped, stepping through the dark.

“Oh… Heero, wai-” He pushed past Relena and whoever she was clinging to and escaped the room, picked a random direction and marched, phone clutched tightly in hand, shoulders tensed.

 

* * *

  

Trowa slipped the headset off and secured it to the wall next to his laptop. He closed the private communications terminal and pulled up his email so he could send Heero his address. After typing the CAPCOM’s name into the recipient field he paused, eyes focusing on the blinking line of the cursor in the text field below. The conversation with Heero replayed in his mind.

_‘No, I don’t get tired of it… I enjoy talking to you,’_

Was there more meaning behind those words than Heero had let on? Why hadn’t he told him that he enjoyed talking with him as well? The two had yet to meet in person, but Trowa was already forming a favorable impression of the other. He always felt at ease when they talked and secretly enjoyed Heero’s dry sense of humor. They also shared a growing, mutual respect.

And tonight Heero had tried speaking in French. The stumbling attempt pleased Trowa more than he would admit. _Maybe I’ll try saying something in Japanese next time._ Would there be another private call like that?

_‘You can call me anytime, you know, if you need anything else.’_

The invitation meant Heero WANTED him to call again, right? Trowa was worried he’d become a bother, and while comfortable talking during work hours, he felt bad about taking up Heero’s personal time as well. Wouldn’t his girlfriend get annoyed? Heero never talked about Relena... why was that? Maybe he just preferred keeping his personal life private.

Sighing, Trowa pushed all the questions away and started typing the email.

_Heero,_

_Here’s the address and access code to my building. The front desk reception will give you a spare copy of my key. The plants are very resilient. Don’t stress. Thanks again for the favor._

Trowa added his address before his fingers paused again, hovering just over the keyboard. He wanted to say more, but this was his professional NASA account and he had to remind himself that he needed to keep his relationship with Heero professional as well. After hesitating a moment longer he quickly brought the email to a close.

_It was nice talking to you, too._

A single click of the mouse pad sent the email on its way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:  
> [1] Dassault Rafale: lit. “gust of wind” / military term “burst of fire”; multirole jet fighter used by the French air force and navy.  
> [2] Northrop T-38 Talon: twinjet supersonic jet trainer introduced in 1961, used by the USAF and Navy as well as NASA to train pilots. As of 2017, it is still in use.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Houston Heights Apartments_ ** ****__  
**_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Friday November 21, 2003_**

Heero had been driving in circles for what felt like ages, hunting for a parking spot in the parking garage adjacent to Trowa’s apartment building. He hadn’t considered the fact that he couldn’t get into the apartment building’s private garage until now, and it being after work hours it was next to impossible to find a public space. He was irritated, and the caustic acid of his agitation bubbled to the surface. If he couldn’t find something in this structure he was going to have to park a few blocks down at the mall and walk instead.

“Damn it,” he muttered, thumped the top of his steering wheel with his palm and continued his zig zag through the low-ceilinged parking garage. Finally he found a single spot on the roof. As he neared it he realized that the massive diesel truck beside it had gone over its line, crowding into the open space. It was probably why it was still available.

There was no hesitation. Heero eased his own car, a formidable luxury sedan, into the too-tiny space. He had guided robotic arms through problematic satellites in low earth orbit, he could handle forcing his car into a compact parking spot, leaving no room for the truck or himself to open the doors.

At this point he didn’t care. He tossed his gearshift into park, shut off his car and opened the sunroof. Fifteen seconds later he was climbing off of the rear hatch of his car, scowling angrily at the truck, his own car keys in hand. If he were fifteen years younger, and a little more hot-headed he would have keyed _exactly_ what he thought of the other driver into it, but now that he was pushing on 30 years-old and had a reputation (and NASA’s reputation) to consider, so he reluctantly shoved his keys into his pocket and began the long trek to Trowa’s apartment building.

As he exited the parking structure and stepped out onto the street he grabbed his NASA issued new Blackberry smartphone from his pocket and clumsily opened his email. He had to scroll past five emails from Relena to find the one Trowa had sent him the night of the book signing. He hadn’t bothered opening Relena’s correspondences. He knew they would say anyway. There would be weak explanations about the party night, maybe he ‘ _shouldn’t jump to conclusions’_ and that _‘he’s just a friend’_ or whatever lame, watered down excuse she chose to use.

The truth was that Heero didn’t care. How could he hold any of that situation against her? He had broken up with her. She didn’t owe him any kind of reasoning. She owed him no loyalty.

No, it wasn’t the fact that she was messing around with some guy in the dark that had him turned upside down and worked up. It was the fact that she had moved on, that she found comfort in someone else while he felt so _unhinged_ . He was jealous. Not of her new beau, but because he couldn’t be doing the same with the object of _his_ desires.

He stared down at Trowa’s email as he picked his way down the sidewalk to the apartment building. It was a busy street with a lot of pedestrians, mostly patrons of locally owned shops attached to the first floor of the skyrise buildings and high towers. Coffee shops and interest shops mostly, with young people shuffling in and out, laughing and smiling to one another as they took in the crisp evening air.

It was the sound of their happy exchanges that added weight to his shoulders as he pushed through them. Their smiles and cheerful words only served as a stark reminder of just how _alone_ he felt. Sure, he spent every day at work surrounded by colleagues, but ultimately _he_ no longer had anyone to step out into the night with. Not now that Relena had seemingly moved on. There were a few people at work who would occasionally offer to have him out to dinner or for a movie. The previous shift CAPCOM Bernadette often asked him out on weekends, but he always declined. It wasn’t that she wasn’t his type. She was smart, interesting, and had similar interests. She was pretty enough, pleasing to the eye, had a cute laugh. No, it wasn’t her at all. It was him.

Heero couldn’t stop someone else from occupying his mind. It wouldn’t be fair to waste anyone else’s time when he knew he would spend the whole outing wondering about someone else anyway.

His feelings for Trowa Barton had become his curse.

Heero found the keycode to Trowa’s building in the email he had sent to him and used it to let himself into the lobby. As he rode the elevator up to the fourth floor he stared at the simple message on his dimly lit screen. There was nothing but the address, the keycode and a simple sentence below it: _“it was nice talking to you, too.”_

The statement was simple, something anyone easily could have casually said in passing, but to Heero it meant more than just a common pleasantry. He knew it was stupid to think that the sentence was a code, or that it meant something else, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help feeling that it had been added to catch his eye, to draw attention to something.

Did Trowa want him to call again? Was he asking him to talk more? To try harder to interact?

 _I’m going crazy,_ Heero thought with a frown as he made his way out of the elevator and made his way down to apartment number 412, letting himself in with the key.

Heero’s first impression of Trowa’s apartment was that it was tidy, with a clean and fresh scent emanating from some unknown source. There weren’t a lot of belongings but that wasn’t entirely a surprise. Trowa had only moved in shortly before being sent up to the ISS, so there wouldn’t have been much time for accumulation. The mail had been pushed through the slot in the door and had gathered in a haphazard pile just inside the doorway. Heero picked each item up carefully, trying his best not to be nosey and look at the contents. He arranged them neatly by type and shape and set them on a narrow table in the entryway, took off his shoes and padded along the hallway to the kitchen where a watering can had been left beside the sink. As he filled it he noticed a few pictures stuck to the refrigerator.

One was a picture of an older woman seated at a cafe table, cradling a glass of red wine in one hand while blowing a kiss at the camera with the other. She was dressed to the nines, and held herself with poise and confidence. She had gleaming, bright green eyes accentuated by large, red cat-eye glasses. Her pleasing face was framed by chic, perfectly styled, neatly pinned auburn hair.

 _Trowa’s mother,_ Heero decided as he studied the picture from afar. The watering can was full. He shut the water off and carefully hefted it in hand, crossing the kitchen to closely examine the second photograph.

It was of Trowa, dressed in a light and flowing white summer shirt buttoned halfway and tucked into a pair of fitted, dark denim. He was smiling, his arm draped casually over a tall, lithe woman’s shoulder. The woman was smiling into the camera as well, her eyes wide and reflective, a blue-grey that almost appeared opalescent in the bright light. She was wearing a yellow drop top and a knee length, khaki skirt. A boy of about seven years old was standing in front of them, the woman’s hands grasping gently to his shoulders. The boy’s hair was almost an identical color to Trowa’s, slightly darker, and styled similarly with a long flowing bang draped over one eye. He was smirking, leaning back into the woman and Trowa with casual familiarity. They were standing beside a white fence, tall sunflowers bending over into the frame behind them. They looked like a picture perfect family.

 _Family…_ Heero frowned. He had thought that Trowa’s personnel file had listed his status as single. His eyes drifted from Trowa’s carefree, smiling face to the boy in front of him. Could that be his son? A ‘single’ listing in a profile could have easily meant ‘divorced’, there was no option for that on NASA official records. Or, perhaps he hadn’t married that girl at all.

It was entirely possible for Trowa to have a son. Heero found it odd that, if it were his child, he had never been brought up in conversation with anyone on the ISS before. At least not that _he_ had heard.

He didn’t know what to think about Trowa having a son. The idea didn’t change the way he felt about him, but it could pose a problem if he were ever to pursue him. People with children had more complicated lives, and _good_ parents put their children ahead of their own wants and needs. If he had a son, where was he? France? That meant that when he returned from space he would be setting off directly back to Europe to be with him, wouldn’t he?

Heero frowned, turned away from the photograph and made his way into living room. He spotted a few of the plants right away and carefully watered each one, taking in the odds and ends in the room. An acoustic guitar was sitting in the far corner in a stand, a few science books littered the coffee table. There was a painting on the wall, somewhat abstract, a mixture of natural cool blue tones with black and grey accents. At first glance it gave Heero the impression that the artist was attempting to paint the horizon of Earth with long, horizontal strokes, allowing the atmosphere to spill messily into the blackness of space. It came off rather hopeful and yet morose at the same time. There were no other pieces of art in the room, simply the one giant canvas across from a pale, grey couch.

He made his way into Trowa’s bedroom, which was decorated in a similar style to the rest of the apartment. Sparse, tasteful. The plant was beside the window atop a white desk. A pen and letter opener neatly rested alongside it. As he watered it he took in the room, which lacked any real personal belongings aside from the plant, a few notebooks, a keepsake box on the nearby dresser and a picture frame of Trowa in his French air force uniform, standing alongside the older woman from the picture in the kitchen. The boy from the family photo was in the shot as well, clinging to his arm, a few years younger than in the last photograph. The young woman in the other picture must have been the one taking the photo.

The watering can was light in his hand. He looked down and realized it was empty.

He had done as Trowa had asked: gathered his mail and watered his plants. He sighed and set the can on the desk, deciding it was best to check the bathroom for anything leaking or amiss. He poked his head in, turned on the light and saw nothing out of the ordinary. On the counter was a green, blue and violet bottle with ‘ _Eau De Cartier’_ ’ written in widely spaced letters on the front.

Heero studied the bottle, then sighed and shook his head. A voice in the back of his head was begging him to pick it up, uncap it and smell it. He was curious. Was that Trowa’s, or was it the woman in the picture’s scent? There was no indication on the bottle as to whether it was a woman’s scent or not.

Heero flipped off the light and returned to the bedroom. As he crossed the foot of the bed to retrieve the watering can he glanced down at a grey quilt folded at the foot of the bed. His feet stopped him in his tracks as he realized that a cheerfully stitched planet Neptune was grinning up at him. With a raised eyebrow he carefully lifted the quilt, revealing the childish solar system pattern across the front of it. Happy planets following stitched, outlined orbits in a cutesy space scene. The fabric itself was intact but somewhat worn, as if the blanket had been well loved.

 _Is this Trowa’s baby blanket?_ Heero turned it gently over in his hands, studying the detailed patterns with interest. It could have certainly been Trowa’s, and the fact that the fighter pilot and astronaut had kept something so silly and sentimental in his apartment was endearing.

 _Or… does this belong to the boy?_ The image of the young boy from the pictures brought him to another conclusion. Could this be Trowa’s son’s?

Heero frowned, spread the quilt out and carefully folded it into a neat rectangle, situating it where he had found it at the foot of the bed. He grabbed the watering can, returned it to the kitchen beside the sink and went to the front door to put his shoes on.

He had been given a peek into Trowa’s life, and he had found things that had given him more questions than answers. He slipped out of the apartment, locked it, checked to make sure the door was secured and began his long trek down to the parking lot. His hands shoved into his jacket pockets, head down, feeling disheartened.

 

* * *

 

 **_International Space Station_ ** ****__  
**_Low Earth Orbit, Space_ ** ****_  
_ **_Monday November 24, 2003_ **

Sally Po raked her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame her curls. In microgravity keeping neatly styled hair was next to impossible, so she hardly left her hair down. Hair tie in hand, she attempted to braid her uncooperative locks to get them out of the way so she could cover it with her black and white Snoopy cap[1], the lining all crew members wore underneath their helmets. She glanced up at the digital clock overhead and sighed. They were running ahead of schedule - just how she liked it.

“So this is your first spacewalk?”  She looked over her shoulder at the other astronaut in the module with her, preparing his suit for their six hour long excursion. “Are you excited? Nervous?”

“Ecstatic. I’ve been looking forward to this my entire life.” Trowa answered, tucking his long bangs back into his cap. “Although, I can’t say I’m excited to wear these again,” he motioned south to where the maximum absorbency garment lay hidden beneath his white, full-body garment. It had been almost three decades since he’d last worn diapers and he couldn’t remember them being this uncomfortable. Then again the Extravehicular Mobility Units, the fancy name for space suits, weren’t exactly made for ultimate comfort.

Sally chuckled at the mention of the fancy NASA diapering system. “It’s rare that anyone ever uses one.” She dropped her voice, turned around and leaned in to whisper to him. “The only person I know who has had to use one was Duo. We warned him not to drink so much lemonade before going out, but did he listen…?”

She chuckled and carefully adjusted the headset built into her cap. “You’ll do great. I’ve heard that you were quite agile in the Neutral Buoyancy Training pool. I suspect that if you’re half as graceful in these hulking things as you are around the station that you’ll be right as rain.” She pat the stiff upper torso of her EMU mounted to the wall beside her. “It’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these myself. My last one was nearly eight hours long, an emergency repair with Yuy.”

The mention of Heero’s name caught Trowa’s attention. “Yea? What was the repair?” He asked as he stepped into the bulky white pants of the lower half of the space suit.

“The multiplexer-demultiplexer data relay,” Sally explained as she waited patiently for Trowa to position himself in the lower half, helping him to adjust and attach various straps along the way. “It wasn’t too dangerous for the crew, as you know there is a secondary, but it just failed out of nowhere. Alert woke us up out of sleep and everything. So I guess I got a few more hours added to my total spacewalk count that I can brag about.”

She helped Trowa float up into the mounted upper half of the EMU, assisting him as he slid his head through the hard frame around the neck. “It’s part of the fun of working up here. Anything can go wrong at any time. I guess that’s part of the charm of it all.”

“Good thing we like fixing stuff.” Once Trowa was secure in his suit he started to help Sally. “Do you miss Heero? It must be strange not having a team member here that you originally trained with for so long…” He hadn’t really asked his comrades about their opinions of astronaut Heero Yuy.

Sally chuckled. “Of course we all miss him, but it isn’t like he’s completely gone now, is he?” She gestured to the air around them with a playful swirl of her hand as if referring to some unseen power or God himself. “I think you’re an excellent flight engineer, and even though we do miss him, I can speak for all of us when I say that we’re happy you’re on the team.”

She slipped into her own lower half and let Trowa guide her up into the upper portion, poking her head through. She pushed her arms into the bulky sleeves and bent them as if testing their tension. “I think it’s better for the team, to be honest.” She glanced down the nearby rounded corridor for a moment before whispering. “I don’t have to listen to Duo and Heero bickering anymore. _That’s_ a relief.”

“Duo likes to bicker,” Trowa made that observation early on when he first joined the team. “And tease.” As the new guy there had been many times that he’d been the butt of Duo’s jokes, although he didn’t mind. He had a very calm, chill demeanor most of the time, but Trowa could see how Duo’s teasing would irritate someone like Heero. “I think Heero is a good CAPCOM. He also sounds like a talented astronaut. I hope he’ll be able to join us on a future mission…” If there was need for a second Flight Engineer and if they were all selected for a future expedition.

A stray strand of silky hair found it’s way out of Sally’s cap, freely floating upwards. Trowa noticed it and without thinking reached out to carefully tuck it back into place, his eyes narrowed and focused.

Sally’s eyes widened as Trowa floated closer to her face, his finger tucking into her cap. She smiled, admiring how handsome the younger man was, his expression serious. Intent. “You remind me of him,” she remarked. “You both make the same kinds of faces. He’s very serious, though. Driven. He doesn’t take being up here lightly, which is why I think he may have taken you being his replacement hard at first.”

She grabbed a glove as it floated in the air nearby, slipping it over her splayed fingers. “I know I would have been crushed if that had happened to me.”

“I think anyone would be devastated.” Trowa agreed, looking away. During his first few weeks on the ISS his interactions with their CAPCOM had been stiff and mostly abrupt. He honestly couldn’t blame Heero, who had seemed apprehensive of Trowa in the beginning. Eventually they had warmed up to each other, and now Heero was one of his favorite crewmembers to talk to.

“Yes, well, we can’t all be lucky all the time, right?” Sally said, handing Trowa his glove liners. “Though let’s hope we have plenty of luck today.” She chuckled and went to work helping Trowa put on his outer layer of gloves, connect the various equipment used for the spacewalk to the upper body shell of the EMU and finished getting dressed herself.

Soon they were both completely outfitted and ready to step out into the vacuum of space to make their routine repairs and maintenance. Noin appeared shortly after to help them evacuate the module, sealing off the doors for them and monitoring the pressures of the station as they clipped themselves to the support railing of the station with secure lines and crawled carefully outside.

“How are you hanging in there?” Sally asked Trowa over their radio connection as she made her way one hand over the other across the outside of the station, her legs floating stiffly behind her.

Trowa was following carefully behind, moving at what felt like the pace of a snail. “I’m hanging in just fine. This is… _magical_.” He said as he took in his surroundings, allowing his body to relax despite his accelerating heart rate. The earth was positioned in front of them. It was the brightest cyan blue he had ever seen and the sheer size of the planet made him feel like a speck of dust floating before it. Light from the sun reflected off everything, making the exterior of the ISS shine in high definition, it’s large solar panels shimmered with golden light.

He couldn’t believe he was actually outside of the ISS. It was exciting, to say the least. If only his father could see him now...

Sally smiled. “Now you can say you’ve done it all,” she remarked playfully. “You’ve been where _no man has gone before…_ ” she added, quoting Star Trek with as much mystique as she could muster. “Okay, so maybe a _few_ men, and women, but still…”  
  
It was ‘daytime’ on the planet below, which provided them plenty of ambient sunlight to do their work. With her thick, gold solar shield in place it was easy to see where they were going. She led the way to a nearby secure panel just outside of the Japanese experimentation module and stopped, gesturing to the thick bolted panel in front of them. “There you are Mister Engineer. Good luck getting those bolts off.”

Nearby the long, telescoping Canadian robotic arm curled towards them, its camera fixed on the two spacewalkers.  
  
“Lookin’ good,” Duo’s voice entered their radio broadcast. The science officer was observing them from inside, controlling the robotic arm from the station’s cupola. “Hey, Trowa, sorry but those pants make your butt look huge,” he teased.

“Do you have a problem with curvy men?” Trowa asked, grabbing the pistol grip astronaut tool that was strapped to his side. If a gun copulated with a power drill their offspring would look something like the fancy space tool he was holding with his thick-gloved hands. Before stepping outside he’d already made sure the correct head was attached. Now he was ready to start loosening the worn bolts.

Duo snorted across the connection. “You kiddin’ me? Who doesn’t want a little cushion for the pushin’?” The Canadarm[2] wiggled up and down in a suggestive manner. Sally laughed, floating nearby, prepared to assist Trowa as needed. She collected each bolt he pulled loose into a magnetic box to keep them from floating away.

“Hope you drained your bladder before this one,” Duo said playfully. “Looks like a long haul.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Look, he’s already gotten half of the bolts loose. That’s faster than you,” she teased.

Duo huffed. “Okay, Trowa. Stop showin’ off otherwise the rest of us are gonna be out of a job.”

“Not likely, although maybe just _you_ will be out of a job,” said Trowa in a flat tone, his comment half-assed as he continued to work. The thrill of being in space didn’t stop him from fully focusing on the task at hand. Once he finished removing the bolts he pulled the panel open and started to inspect the wires inside, checking for any breaks or corrosion.

 **_“Do the world a favor, please take his job.”_ ** Heero’s voice came over the COM. He had just logged on, having taken over for the previous CAPCOM to start his shift.

“Why take _my_ job, when he’s already taken _yours_.” Duo clapped back over the connection, the Canadarm creeping closer to Trowa, focusing on his fluffy white backside. Sally, who was floating tethered quietly beside him, clutched the support bar to steady herself.

“Well, there goes my peace and quiet,” Sally remarked plainly, directing her comment to her fellow spacewalker, her voice somewhat annoyed.

“I haven’t taken anyone’s job.” Trowa pointed out coolly, finger probing at a bronze colored wire. “CAPCOM, it’s good to have you here.”

 **_“Thank you. You’ve already got the panel off, you’re only 37 minutes into your walk,”_ ** Heero reported as he logged the time and activities he was seeing on the screen, images provided by general external camera views and Duo’s movable robotic arm.

“Yeah, they’re cruising on overdrive today,” Duo added with a chuckle. “They’ve gotta be making a record or somethin’ by now. What’s the record time for takin’ off that panel, Heero?”

NASA was notorious for their logistics and recorded the time it took to perform every little task in space.

 **_“I’ll check,”_ ** Heero replied. Sally smirked and reached out to knock the top of Trowa’s helmet playfully as he worked.

“Maybe you’ll get a reward,” she said.

“Maybe.” Trowa smiled and then returned his attention back on the panel. “Everything looks fine. No corrosion…. I'm not seeing any frayed wires… Looks like this panel just needed new bolts.” Perhaps the next panel would have more issues and slow down his ‘record breaking’ time.

**_“Understood. You may replace that panel and proceed to KB-210-1.”_ **

“What kind of reward would be good for a hippy-dippy Frenchman?” Duo asked over the COM, making small talk. “Oh, I know. One of those little heads with the sprouts that grow on it.”

“Chia pet,” Sally supplied, handing Trowa each new bolt in turn as he replaced the olds ones with new.

 **_“Speaking of plants, I watered yours last night,”_ ** Heero added, his statement directed to Trowa.

Duo laughed. “Wait, Trowa… you trusted _Heero_ with your plants? Hoo-boy…”

Yes, Trowa had trusted Heero with his beloved plants. So far he didn’t regret that decision. “Thank you, CAPCOM,” Trowa replied as he secured the last bolt into place and then moved slowly down the length of the ISS with Sally trailing behind him. They stopped at panel KB-210-1. “I take it they didn’t give you any trouble?”

**_“Hm, no. Not this time.”_ **

The Canada robotic arm followed them, swiveling over and around the module as they made their way to the other side to check the opposite relays. “What kinda plants do ya got, Trowa? Venus fly traps or somethin’?”

**_“Forty-two minutes.”_ **

“What was that CAPCOM?” Sally asked, steadying herself beside Trowa as he began to work on the next set of bolts with the large pistol grip space drill. She reached out to steady his body, counteracting the spinning torque as the sockets stripped away the bolts from the panel.

**_“The previous record for disassembling that last panel was forty-two minutes, thirteen seconds.”_ **

Duo laughed. “Who’s record?”

**_“Mine,” Heero replied._ **

“Damn, Trowa. Looks like you did win after all,” Duo said cheerfully over their connection. “What’s the grand prize?”

Sally chuckled. “How about an all-expenses paid trip around the planet, courtesy of NASA?”

“Nah, he’s been there before. How about it, Tro? Where would you go if you could go _anywhere_ in the world?” Duo was turning the camera around, fixing it at an angle to better see the two fidgeting in the panel box.

Trowa was trying to focus on the task at hand and was having trouble keeping up with all of Duo’s questions. While he wasn’t purposely working towards beating the current record, he couldn’t stifle the competitive flame within. His brows knit together as he focused.

“I’m not sure. Probably some countries in Southeast Asia. Maybe Bali? Thailand?” He threw out some random ideas as he loosened the panel and gently pushed it open to inspect its contents. “We’ve got some frayed wires in this one…”

 **_“Protocol states that if any wires are damaged to go ahead and replace the entire relay harness and box,”_ ** Heero explained, reading off the facts from memory. **_“Honestly a full replacement will be easier than having to pluck out each small, damaged piece… but you knew this.”_ ** Of course Trowa did, it would have been part of his training.

“I’ve got the replacements here,” Sally said as she began to dig around in a large pouch against her chest, carefully pulling each piece out for Trowa to inspect them.

“Bali, huh? Heero’s from Japan, you ever been to Bali, Heero?” Duo asked.

**_“No. Never. Trowa, before you begin we’re going to manually redirect the electricity from that entire section and Noin’s going to run an internal ground line. Sit tight for two minutes.”_ **

Duo huffed over the intercom, straightening the camera. “I don’t do hot and humid. You guys can keep that one. How about you, Sally? You like the heat?”

Sally shrugged, though the motion was lost within the stiffness of her suit. “I like being warm. That’s one thing I miss about Earth. It doesn’t ever get _warm_ enough up here for me, even when I sleep in my crew quarters with the heater on full blast.”

Duo chuckled. “Not all of us can spoon up here like Noin and Mil can…” It was a well known fact that Noin and her husband Milliardo shared crew quarters on occasion. “Trowa, you down for a cuddle buddy?”

“I’m always accepting applications, but I’m not sure I have an opening right now.” Trowa teased, gripping the handlebars on the side of the ISS while he waited patiently for Heero to give him the go ahead. Duo wasn’t really his type. The braided astronaut talked too much, especially when they were working, but Trowa was too polite to say anything about it. He turned his body slightly so he could glance over at Sally, and was quickly reminded that he was floating outside in space. The excitement and giddiness of it all crept back into his system and he allowed a smile to form on his lips, knowing his expression was hidden behind the reflective sheen of his helmet.

Sally chuckled as Duo was blatantly denied by Trowa. “I’ll have to make sure to apply,” she teased.

“Man. I’m just gonna have to freeze then. All by myself, the odd man out…” Duo moped through the COM.

 **_“You could always open the pressure lock, stick your head out and get it over with quicker-”_ **  Heero offered his solution to Duo in his usual flat, emotionless tone.

Sally’s laughter was loud, she couldn’t stop herself and reached up to mute her microphone.

“You’re a dick,” Duo grumbled.

**_“Trowa, you’re cleared for ground. You may initiate the replacement.”_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Snoopy Cap, AKA “communication cap”: worn on the head beneath space suit helmets, it has a built in audio headset for communication. Each cap contains two headphones and speakers in the event one should fail.  
> [2] Canadarm, Shuttle Remote Manipulator System (SRMS): is a series of robotic arms that were used on the Space Shuttle orbiters to deploy, maneuver and capture payloads. One crew member operates the Canadarm from the aft flight deck control station, and a second crew member usually assists with television camera operations.


	5. Chapter 5

**_International Space Station_ ** ****_  
_ **_Low Earth Orbit, Space_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Friday November 28, 2003_**

 

“Are you sure you want to do it this time? I know you don’t like being on camera,” said Noin as she floated into the node where the camera and sound system had been set up for that month’s International Space Station Live broadcast. She hooked a hand against a handhold above her head to stop her forward momentum and waited for her long bangs to shift away from her eyes so she could make eye contact with the only other astronaut floating freely in the center of the cramped space, reading over the questions that had been submitted by the local school children.

Milliardo sighed and shook his head, the movement causing his long platinum ponytail to come to life behind him, snaking around him as if it had a mind of its own.

“I don’t mind these kinds of questions,” he explained, holding up a little notebook. “They’re intelligible. Not just ‘what do you eat in space’ or ‘how do you defecate there’. “

Noin smiled. “Poop. They ask how we poop in space.”

“Exactly,” Milliardo said with a frown. Noin couldn’t help but laugh at him as she wondered if her fellow European astronaut had _ever_ uttered the word ‘poop’ in his life.

“What do children from your country even say when they need to use the restroom,” she teased with a good natured smile.

“In Danish the word for …” Milliardo paused, refusing to say the English equivalent, “it’s ‘bae’[1].”

Noin stared at him then laughed. “Wait a minute. ‘Bae’ means ‘poop’ in Danish?”

Milliardo tried to busy himself with his notebook, refusing to look up. “Yes. It does.”

Noin tucked her legs under his body and began to laugh harder. “Mill, you’ve got to tell the kids that. It’s hilarious.”

The blonde astronaut scowled and shook his head quickly. “Absolutely not. It’s irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant, but funny.” Trowa interjected as he floated around the corner and came into view. He checked his watch, pushing his long sleeve up to reveal that he was just in time for the broadcast. “So it’s the three of us this round?” The ISS crew took turns answering questions on camera. Usually Duo volunteered himself every time, but he was currently busy logging some data near the back end of the station.

“That’s correct.” Milliardo pressed his notebook against the wall near his workbench, attaching it to some velcro so it wouldn’t float off. Various tools and gadgets littered the sides of the node, each affixed with the scratchy but practical material.

“It’ll be nice for the kids to see you for once, _bae_ ,” Noin said smoothly as she shuttled herself off to float into the space in front of the camera, nudging her too-serious husband as she passed by.

“Enough with the jokes,” Milliardo replied, forcing a frown. He glanced up at the camera. “CAPCOM we’re all accounted for.”

 ** _“Understood,_ ”** came Heero’s placid voice from over the detachable loudspeaker secured to the wall beside the camera.

Back on Earth in Houston Texas, Heero was trying to manage the local press spokespeople who were, as usual, attempting to micromanage the broadcast. He cast a tired look over his shoulder at Relena, who was hovering around the rep with a clipboard, trying to reassure him that the astronauts could handle the questions and that they had the broadcast under control.

They hadn’t spoke to one another much ever since the book signing event aside from the occasional polite pleasantries between any casual coworkers. There was still an awkward air about her that had come to overshadow her usual confidence. Whenever Heero was around she became subdued, often ducking to the rear of the room to hide at her desk.

He had kept telling himself he needed to confront her and clear the air with her, but he didn’t know how to open that conversation. _“Relena, I know you were with someone else. I’ve moved on, too. Please let’s not let this be weird anymore…”_ just didn’t seem appropriate for the occasion. He decided to wait for a good time to speak to her in private, whenever that would be. In the meantime they both had their hands full with the latest ISS!Live event.

Heero hated ISS!Live broadcasts because they were a logistical nightmare. The local news and the press office wanted them to be genuinely live when on air, which he felt was unnecessary. It was a pain in the ass. The logistics of managing the time delay and satellite pings from the station to Houston alone were difficult, but then to have to channel everything through the local network to the cable company was another hurdle they had to overcome. He could see the networking specialists at the corner of the room on their laptops diligently monitoring for hiccups that would almost certainly happen.

Despite the annoyance that came with the monthly event, a small part of him secretly looked forward to them. It was one of the few times he could speak casually with the other astronauts on the station and still maintain professional bearing. It also almost always included Trowa, who was fascinating to watch in front of the camera. Somehow he always seemed to maintain his complete composure and still be immensely entertaining.

While Relena bickered with the high strung rep behind him he grabbed his coffee cup and took a long swig of the black, lukewarm brew. They were supposed to be on in three minutes.

 **_“Three minutes and counting,”_ ** Heero said through his headset over the COM to the astronauts on the monitor at the front of the screen. **_“We can begin once the media guy stops bullying Relena.”_ **

The statement won him a sour look from the pushy media representative, but managed to make the flight engineer smile. Trowa turned his body to the side so he could hide the smirk that crept across his face and pretended to busy himself with inspecting one of the tools velcroed to the wall. He was a fan of the CAPCOM’s snarky remarks, which were always delivered in a cool, even, and calm tone.

“Okay, standing by,” Noin said as she hovered in the air beside Milliardo. She reached over to smooth one of the loose, long, platinum locks away from his face. “Do you want to do the greeting or do you want Trowa and I to do it?”

Milliardo sighed. “I think I candle handle it.”

 **_“One minute, thirty-seven seconds,”_ ** Heero’s voice informed them robotically.

Milliardo grabbed a nearby stable surface and centered himself in the middle of the camera’s eye. As Heero counted down he straightened out the front of his white polo shirt and stared intensely into the camera.

**_“3… 2… 1… Going live.”_ **

“Welcome to the International Spa-” Just as Miliardo began his introduction something beyond the camera caught his eye. From the entrance of the node just past the camera came what could only be described as an assault squadron of paper airplanes. They plummeted through the opening and began pouring into the frame. Milliardo paused to swat a few away from his face, but missed a couple which ended up smacking him in the forehead.

“Hi! This is Lucrezia Noin, Italian astronaut from the International Space Station! You’re watching ISS!Live,” Noin said brightly in an attempt to recover for her very annoyed husband. “And these are my colleagues Milliardo Peacecraft and Trowa Barton. Today we’re going to answer a few questions from some NASA fans about life on the International Space Station. Trowa, how about you answer our first question,” she asked as she picked a tiny airplane from the air before it careened into the side of Milliardo’s head.

In Houston the media representative was having a heart attack over the sudden bombardment of paper airplanes. Relena was doing her best to assure him that it was merely a prank and that the humor would be good for the broadcast. The man wasn’t convinced. Heero scowled, wondering why the guy took this so seriously. Sure, he wanted people to appreciate NASA and the ISS more, but it wasn’t like the man was going to win an Emmy award for dry, geeky science Q&A sessions.

Heero cleared his throat and watched as Trowa drifted to the center of the screen while Milliardo swatted at the incoming paper planes. He read the first question on the paper in front of him aloud.

**_“Julius Troche from Alberta Unified Schools in Georgia asks: after seeing Earth and realizing that it is so rare and beautiful in our solar system, do you believe that other life exists somewhere else in the universe?”_ **

“The universe is so vast that we haven’t even scraped the surface with our discoveries. There are other galaxies out there, similar to our own. Who’s to say that there isn’t intelligent life as well?” Trowa answered without hesitation, tapping his finger to his chin as he looked into the camera curiously. “I believe we are not alone in the universe.”

Noin smiled and nodded. “Good answer. How about you next, Milliardo?”

The onslaught of planes had finally ended. Milliardo nodded.

 **_“Kylie Grier from the Kanahwa Country School District in West Virginia asks: do astronauts give autographs like other celebrities do?”_ ** Heero asked through his headset. He could feel Relena’s hand clutching his shoulder tightly as he spoke. It was obvious she was getting irritated and finding herself at the end of her rope.

Milliardo smiled. “Yes, we do. You can write to many resources to reach specific astronauts. For instance, the Canadian space program has their own, as well as the JAX program. However, to get an autograph specifically from any astronaut or crew working on the ISS you can simply submit a letter addressed to your favorite astronaut to 2101 NASA Parkway, Mail code CB, Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX 77058.”

“Be sure to add your name and address to the letter as well,” Noin interjected. “Trowa, take this next question?”

Heero smirked as Trowa floated back onto the monitor. **_“Aubry Ellison from Hampton Roads Public Schools in Virginia wants to know if astronauts can cry in space.”_ **

Trowa smiled. This was an opportunity for a demonstration. “Yes, you can cry in space. Your eyes produce tears just like on Earth, but due to the weightlessness of space, they don’t fall.” He floated over to the wall and pulled a water pouch from a cupboard before returning to the center of the frame.

“Since I can’t cry under the pressure of an audience, I’ll show you with this.” He held the silver pouch up and waved his hand in front of it as if he were a game show host modeling a prize. “Water pouch,” explained Trowa with a smirk before popping the cap off the straw and tilting his head back. He squeezed a small amount of water out onto the bottom of his eyelid, where it formed a blob and stuck there, refusing to run down his face as it would on Earth. “As you can see, you can cry in space, but the result is a bit more _amusing_ than you’d expect.”

Heero watched the impromptu demonstration with interest. Leave it to Trowa and Duo to make a full on science experiment out of a simple question. He wet his lower lip with a swipe of his tongue and tried to avoid staring at the astronaut as he smiled at the camera, despite the blobs of ‘tears’ clinging to his eyes.

Relena squeezed his shoulder and pointed at a digital clock on his desk. They were running out of time.  
  
“Unfortunately we’re almost out of time,” Noin said, seeming to catch the flight controller’s thoughts even from 400 km above the Earth’s surface. Tune in next month. If you have a question to ask us astronauts, visit www.nasa.gov”  
  
Milliardo gave a small wave to the camera, as did Noin and Trowa. Before the broadcast could end another figure floated in the background. It was astronaut Sally Po, her arms full of some sort of biochemistry experiment. She smiled at the camera as she casually passed.

The moment the live feed ended the media representative was on fire with frustration. “I thought we were going to take these broadcasts seriously. I demand to know who was responsible for that interruption-”

Heero hadn’t disconnected his COM from the crew on ISS. He could see the astronauts floating together on the large monitor at the front of the flight control room. Noin was looking into the camera with a frown.

Relena tried to appease the rep but with no success. “A little humor goes a long way-”

“I thought you were professionals,” the man snarled, waving his arm around at them, his expensive designer watch catching the dim light of the room.

“We’re professional astronauts; engineers and scientists. If you are looking for a Hollywood production, I suggest you look elsewhere,” Heero finally said icily. “You’ve got your ten minute segment. For _free_ and on NASA’s dime. I think you need to show a little more gratitude.”

Relena put her hand back on Heero’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, warning him to cool down. “Alright, should we wrap it up here? Want me to show you out?” She said politely, looking at the representative with a cool, practiced smile.

The astronauts listened through the connection line, but weren’t able to see anything back at Mission Control. Trowa picked up on Heero’s irritated tone right away. He grabbed a white hand towel and removed the blob of water from his eye, his back turned to the camera as he listened intently.

Everyone thought the representative was pushy and unpractical, not just their annoyed CAPCOM.

The media rep bristled under Relena’s polite smile, but couldn’t bring himself to speak negatively to her. “Next time I want the script for this broadcast submitted _before_ filming.” He gathered his things and waved his tech support over to leave with him.

“Of course,” Relena replied brightly. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the rest of the flight control team before she led the TV crew and irritated media representative out of the control room.

Wufei finally surfaced from his hiding spot behind his desk. “That’s ridiculous. What’s the point of being _live_ if it’s going to be completely scripted?”

Back on the ISS Duo poked his head through one of the porthole-shaped passageways and into the room where the other crew members were filming. “Guess I screwed that up a bit, huh?” He gave them a sheepish smile.

“You did.” Milliardo answered firmly, casting an annoyed glance in the braided astronauts direction.

“Apparently not everyone enjoys impromptu comedy.” Noin shrugged, not the least bit annoyed with the other. She floated over to Duo, grabbing one of the bars on the side of the wall to steady herself.

Trowa attached the hand towel back to the velcro and added, “I thought the paper airplanes created a nice background effect. I’m sure our younger viewers loved them.” He crossed his arms over his chest and faced them.

“I mean, what is that guy’s problem? Why is he so grouchy about everything? It’s supposed to be fun, not a damn docuseries or something.” Duo scratched his head and shrugged. “One of these days Heero’s gonna deck that dude in the nose. I’ve got money on it.”

 **_“I have more self control than that,”_ ** Heero said through over intercom.

“I’d rather have it scripted,” Milliardo admitted with a sigh. He kicked off of the floor and sent himself floating off in the direction of the galley. “I’ll make a rough draft of one and submit it by the end of the week for review.”

Duo rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his head. “Well so much for our monthly impromptu fun.”

 

* * *

 

 **_Arista Restaurant_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Friday December 12, 2003_**

 

Heero couldn’t believe that he was capable of killing a cactus. Carefully he carried the small, yellowing prickly plant across the crosswalk that led to the dining district of Houston’s downtown. It was almost seven o’clock, the streets alive with patrons shuffling in and out of fine restaurants as they enjoyed their Friday nights out. Heero hurried through a pack of giggling girls who were eyeing him curiously as he passed by. He knew he probably looked ridiculous. He was dressed up for a night out, cradling a sad looking, round spiky cactus in hand.

A few minutes later he was ducking into the Arista Restaurant located inside the Hobby Center for the Performing Arts, plant in hand, searching for his dinner date. He found him seated in the center of the room, scanning the dessert menu with interest.

“Sorry I’m late,” Heero said as he slipped into the seat across from Quatre, gently placing the cactus at the corner of the table. “Couldn’t find parking.”

“It’s alright, I’m glad you could make it.” Quatre set the menu down and looked up, offering his friend a warm smile before he caught sight of the cactus. “Oh no. Did _you_ do this? I didn’t think it was possible to kill a cactus? They’re practically indestructible.” Judging by the pale, sickly yellow that covered the plant like some kind of disease the diagnosis was rather apparent. “You’re overwatering it.” 

Heero frowned, looked down at Trowa’s sad little cactus and studied the sopping wet soil inside the planter. He had no idea that there was such a thing as overwatering, especially when it came to opportunistic plants.

“I just assumed that it would only take as much water as it needed,” Heero muttered, studying the plant with a dismayed expression. “It’s not going to die is it? It’s… not mine.”

“It looks like it's on death’s doorstep. I’d give it a few weeks before letting another drop of water touch that soil.” Quatre advised kindly and turned back to Heero. “And I know it’s not yours, you’re not very fond of plants. Or pets. Who’s is it? Not Relena’s…?” 

“Trowa’s,” Heero answered honestly, not looking up from the plant to see what Quatre’s response to that would be. He had no idea if Trowa had told anyone else about him taking care of his apartment for him, nor did he have any idea what Trowa and Quatre’s friendship was like. He knew that they spoke often.

Their server arrived to take their orders. As she jotted it down she looked down at the plant, an eyebrow raised. “Alright, so a water for you both, but perhaps the little cactus should abstain from having anything to drink tonight?” She laughed and vanished to go retrieve their orders.

Heero felt his face grow hot, embarrassed that he could perform amazingly complicated mathematical calculations in his head and operate the most complicated piece of space equipment in the world but he couldn’t take care of a simple houseplant. He decided never to pursue a career as a botanist.

“I’ve been watching his place for him. He’s got a couple of plants…” _All of which are suffering the same ailment as this cactus,_ Heero failed to add.

“I know, he’s told me. He talks about them like they’re his children. I think they might even have names. It’s kind of cute... I hope you are taking better care of the others?” Quatre asked. He fought back the smirk that threatened to expose his amusement, holding his hand up to hide behind it.

“Uh, well… actually,” Heero cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” They were _just_ plants. He decided to casually ask Trowa about the plants the next time he emailed him to find out what they were in the event he may have to replace one or two of them. It wasn’t like he was murdering Trowa’s kittens or his _kid._

Heero’s mind immediately shifted to the thought of the boy pictured in Trowa’s apartment. For a moment he debated whether or not to mention the child. Quatre knew about the plants, so maybe he would know something about Trowa’s son.

“It’s a good thing he didn’t ask me to watch his kid,” Heero added as casually as he could, studying Quatre’s face from across the table. He reached over to grab the cactus and gently placed it on the floor by his feet beneath the table. An old woman across the room had been eyeing it ever since he sat down, and had been giving him weird looks.

“Trowa has a kid?” Quatre asked, eyes wide in confusion. “I didn't know that. He’s never said anything about one to me.”

“He… doesn’t?” Heero sighed, rested his hands in his lap and frowned down at the plate of bread the server had set between them. “I had just assumed. There was a photograph in his home of a woman and a boy…”

“I honestly don’t know. It’s definitely possible.” Quatre seemed to detect his disappointment. “Heero, why are you frowning at your plate?”

“I’m hungry,” Heero lied. He reached out to snatch a piece of bread from the communal plate, cracked it open and bit into it irritably. So Quatre didn’t know if the boy was Trowa’s son, either. Somehow it felt wrong. Off. Why wouldn’t Trowa have mentioned his kid? Not that he owed Heero any form of explanation, but usually when people are talking in casual settings they bring up their offspring. Heero had listened to so many hours of conversation between Trowa and the other astronauts on the ISS and not once had he brought up his child, or the mother of that child.

The fact that Trowa _had_ a son didn’t bother him, but that fact that he could be so aloof about it. It didn’t seem like him to be so detached, and that was what didn’t sit well with him. It was clear that he didn’t really _know_ this guy, did he?

“What _do_ you know about him? I’m just curious…” he asked Quatre, taking another bite of his bread.

“Why are you so curious?” Quatre chuckled and reached for a piece of warm bread, shaking his head. “You talk to him more than I do. Every day, for that matter.”

Heero sighed and shook his head. “Just wondering,” he muttered. As Operations Planner for NASA, Quatre was involved in Trowa’s onboarding and orientation. Of them all, he seemed the most knowledgeable when it came to the elusive frenchman.

“I know he was really excited for his first trip to space, and he prefers his coffee black.” Quatre answered vaguely with a shrug.

 _I know what color his sheets are,_ Heero thought. His mind immediately supplied the image of Trowa’s apartment, his personal items strewn throughout. A guitar. Did he play it? The baby blanket. The plants.

“Interesting guy,” Heero replied dryly. “I’d just like to know more about my team, that’s all…”

The server returned with their orders. Heero poked at his pasta with a fork. “So how is the situation with the supply capsule coming?” He had seen Quatre the day before in the lobby with Dorothy Catalonia, who had overrode her engineers and other qualified professional in lieu of taking the reins of the project herself. The rumor was that she fancied herself a space pioneer.

“I wanted to speak to you about that,” Quatre set his utensils down and looked up with concern. “I’m worried about partnering with her. I don’t think she’s taken the proper precautions to test the new capsule. It feels rushed. Even our own engineers haven’t seemed to have time to properly test it.” He had voiced his concerns that week at work, but they didn’t seem to matter to her.

“Rushed?” Heero straightened in his seat and tilted his head, taking in each word Quatre said with a serious expression. “They said the engineers signed off on it…” He had seen the files himself. Why would the engineers at NASA aid her in rushing her project? What was there to gain from it, unless… “-do you think she’s paying the inspectors off?”

Quatre didn’t verbally confirm Heero’s suspicion although it was clearly  on his mind. He gave Heero a knowing glance before picking his fork up again. “Dorothy is rushing because she wants the exposure. She needs it _now_ in order to attract future clients and investors. I don’t think she is taking the risks seriously.” Rushing the inspections could lead to serious danger for the crew.

Heero lost his appetite. He set his fork down and sighed. “I’m sure everything will be okay,” he tried to sound as convincing as possible, though his words didn’t match his true feelings on the matter. The truth was he had the same doubts as Quatre, but what could they do? What was the use of bringing up something like that without proof? “Maybe I can talk to the team in the air about it. Have them take special precautions they normally wouldn’t take… just in case.”

“They’re already trained to take _all necessary_ precautions.” Quatre sat back in his chair with a frustrated sigh. “You’re right though, it’s probably nothing to worry about. Dorothy just makes me uneasy in general. I don’t like being around her. She’s manipulative.”

Dorothy Catalonia was a tough pill to swallow and whenever she was at NASA everyone always kept on their guard, protecting their flanks in the event she decided to plunge a dagger into their ribs. She was always looking for an opportunity to advance herself which was a great personality trait for a CEO of a company, but not necessarily the best way to be around twitchy, socially inept space nerds.

Heero avoided her the best he could. Quatre was rather diplomatic with her whenever they were in the same room. Wufei always looked as if he was about to pass out in her presence, especially when she decided to turn on her feminine wiles and drape herself across his shoulders or cling to his arm.

“Let me see what else we can do,” Heero offered. As the former flight engineer for the ISS he had intimate knowledge of the station. While NASA _was_ very thorough about procedure and safety, he could think of a few things they could add to the already mile-long checklist of precaution. He wouldn’t be able to do much personally from the ground, but he knew he could confide in his counterpart in orbit to move things along. “I’ll talk to Trowa.”

“Of course you will.” Quatre said with a knowing smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The word "bae," which is usually used to describe someone who comes "before anyone else," has a very different meaning in Danish. It means poop. To add insult to injury, it means "bye" in Icelandic.


	6. Chapter 6

**_International Space Station_ ** ****_  
_ **_Low Earth Orbit, Space_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Monday December 15, 2003_**

 

Duo was practically trembling with excitement. The latest installation of The Lord Of The Rings trilogy, The Return Of The King[1] had been sent by Peter Jackson[2] personally to the ISS in their last resupply. For once they were going to get to see an exclusive director’s cut at the same time as the release of the movie on Earth. It was one of the things that Duo hated most about isolation on the ISS. He hated coming home after 6 months to a world where he had missed every movie release, new hit song and significant pop culture event. It meant having to spend a lot of his time trying to catch up while simultaneously avoiding spoilers.

He strapped the portable DVD player down to their recreation and dining table with a satisfied smirk. “You got the snacks, right?” He asked over his shoulder at the tall frenchman floating behind him. “How many peanut M&Ms do I have left in that stash anyway?”

That was another thing he hated about living in space. He had to ration out his junk food. He couldn’t wait to be back on the planet so he could eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without having to think too far ahead.

“Exactly 5 pieces. Which is why I’ve decided to be nice and share these with you,” Trowa held out an obnoxiously bright orange bag with a rather enthusiastic cheetah on the front of it. “The keyword being SHARE, not GIVE.” He knew how much Duo loved the cheese-flavored, messy snack but they had to carefully ration.

“Ah, well. You are the _sweetest_ ,” Duo teased as he took the offering and hugged it happily against his chest. “Since you’re bein’ so nice, I’ll let you lick off all the cheese powder from my fingers when I’m done.”

Trowa narrowed his eyes and wrapped his navy blue fleece blanket around his body, holding it together at his chest to keep it from floating off. “You eat all of those and I’ll kill you.”

“Hey, now…” Duo chuckled and pressed play on the DVD player. “How scary are you, you giant blue human burrito…” He pushed off of the table and steadied himself to free float beside Trowa, popping the bag open. He always liked the noise that chip bags made when he opened them in space. The bags themselves were always puffy and inflated despite the modifications in packaging before shipment. There was nothing more satisfying than opening a vacuum sealed bag in space. He grabbed a cheeto, aimed it at Trowa and gave it the tiniest of pushes in his direction.  
  
“Gotta get the crunches over with before that hottie Orlando Bloom shows up on screen,” Duo said with a chuckle. “He’s got like 3 entire lines in the whole series, but man so I hang offa that guy’s every word…”

Trowa watched the cheeto fly his way. He lined his mouth up with it and let the orange puff float right on in so that his hands could continue holding the blanket around his chilled body. After he chewed and swallowed he said, “He’s attractive, but I I’m more into Aragorn. Lucky for me he has more lines.”

“Aragorn? He’s too scruffy and dirty-lookin’ for me.” Duo chuckled and matched Trowa’s cheeto with one of his own. “Didn’t know you were into bad boys,” he teased.

“Aragorn is hardly a ‘bad boy’. He’s a hero. Faramir’s pretty attractive too… And I didn’t know you were into pretty boys?” Trowa watched the opening scene play out on the small screen. He’d read the books long ago, but was enjoying the movie adaptations with it’s beautiful scenery and intricate costuming.

“Eh, it’s not necessarily pretty boys so much as the hair. And ears. I like elves, okay? It’s like… a thing. You should see my World Of Warcraft character lineup.” Duo grinned. “Do you like guys? I had a feelin’ you lean a little harder that direction.”

“I don’t think I’d be openly crushing on fictional male characters if I wasn’t into guys.” Trowa chuckled, nudging the side of Duo’s leg for another cheeto. “I’ve dated males and females.”

Duo nodded and launched a cheeto at Trowa with a smirk. “Yeah, but everyone has preferences. Somethin’ they like a little more than the other, right? I like both, too, but I really prefer the gray area in between. Like androgyny. I dunno why. Not into girly girls, but not into manly men either.”

Trowa nodded and grabbed the cheeto with his hand this time. “I don’t really have a type. The last girl I dated was very feminine. And I’ve dated a wide range of men.” He shrugged and nibbled the end of the crunchy snack before speaking again. “I used to be really dominant in relationships… but the last guy I fooled around with overtook me, which I unexpectedly enjoyed.”

Duo eyed him with a grin. “Heh, so you’re kinda new to the world of bottoms, huh?” He crunched on a cheeto thoughtfully. “Ya know, if you ever need help figurin’ stuff like that out.” He finished the statement with a playful wink.

“You’re a top?” Trowa almost laughed at the imagery that statement conjured. “I could have sworn you were a bottom.”  

“What!?” Duo nearly choked on a cheeto. “It’s the hair, right? Everyone thinks because I got this hair it’s some sorta built in leash for bottomin’. Nah, I like bein’ in control.” He eyed the movie and snorted. “We’ve been so busy talkin’ shit we missed the whole Smeagol thing.”

“Want me to shut up?” Trowa raised his eyebrow and gave Duo a look. As much as he loved LOTR, he knew they could watch it again. He was enjoying the loose conversation with the American. Duo reminded him of his college friends.

“Nah, it’s fine. Those guys are gross anyway.” Duo waved a hand and chomped on another chip. “This is kinda interestin’. I’m learnin’ things about you I never knew before.” He held up a cheesey finger. “So you’re bi, you’re pretty versatile, you like Aragorn. You single?” Duo couldn’t recall hearing Trowa talk about anyone he’d left behind.

“Yes.” Trowa licked his own fingers clean of the orange cheeto dust. He glanced to his right and saw Duo was watching him curiously. “What?”

“Okay, so is there someone you _like?_ Everyone’s got a crush, or is Aragorn yours?” Duo held his cheesy finger up and wiggled it playfully at Trowa, offering it to him if he wanted it.

Trowa swatted Duo’s hand away. “I don’t know if I would say that there’s someone I’m crushing on. I… there’s someone I’m curious about,”

“Oh? Intriguing...” Duo twisted his body in the air so he could face Trowa and crunched down a few Cheetos, his violet-colored eyes widening with interest. “Go on…”

“I don’t want to say. It’s not a big deal.” Trowa shook his head and looked away, unsure if he should confide in Duo or not. “I just think someone we work with is cute. But they are in a relationship.”

Duo blinked. “Noin. It’s Noin, isn’t it?” He shoved another Cheeto in his mouth and crossed his legs as if he were a preschooler sitting on the floor in front of a teacher, listening intently to a fascinating story.

“No…. it’s not Noin.” Trowa decided he’d try and change the focus of the conversation from him to Duo. “What about you, you’re not seeing anyone right now, but do you have any crushes?”

“You mean other than _you?_ Yeah. A couple. There’s a guy back home, and a girl who I met down in Houston. Eh, but you know how life up here is. It’s hard to keep a good relationship with anyone when you’re off cruisin’ the stars for 6 months at a time.” Duo shrugged. “Someday I’ll find someone. I hope they’ll be cool with me just droppin’ them for work like a hot potato, ya know? That’s a lot to ask of someone.”

He reached behind himself to grab his braid and twiddled it in his fingers. “Gotta do it like Noin and Milliardo- find someone who is in the same line of work, maybe. Then you don’t gotta be worried that your girlfriend’s got some guy shacked up in your apartment with her while you’re gone…” The last sentence was given with sharp irritation. He was still a little bitter about his last girlfriend.

“Is that what happened to your last relationship?” Trowa asked carefully.

“Yeah,” Duo sighed and rolled his eyes. “She liked that I was gone all the time, for obvious reasons. What really ticked me off was that she wasn’t just cheatin’, she had the guy in my house. Sleepin’ in my bed, wearin’ my goddamn clothes. One of my friends saw them out together, he was ‘borrowing’ my favorite leather jacket. He’s fuckin’ lucky I was up here, is all I’m gonna say.”

Duo frowned and grabbed a nearby sealed pouch of apple juice and sucked at the straw angrily. He didn’t like thinking about his past and about the fact that practically every person he had dated somehow fucked him over. It was a hard reality he had to face, and one that had left him frustrated with dating and relationships. As much as he liked Trowa and teased him he wasn’t in any hurry to snag someone else. He didn’t want to get hurt again, not until he was done repairing the holes in his own protective wall.

“I was a pretty popular guy back at Cal Poly[3],” he changed the subject quickly and gnawed at the tip of his straw. “Not just for my senior thesis. Let’s just say I blew some minds, and some other things…” He chuckled at his own joke. “Not that you would know anything about that stuff, right? MIT[4] is chock full of virgins.”

Trowa rolled his eyes. Duo always brought up their rival colleges. “Yes. We were too busy studying and putting Cal Poly’s reputation to shame.”

“Pssshhh, ‘studying’. Right. Too bad your asses couldn’t get a hold of anything _good_ like, ya know, the Jet Propulsion Lab. But you go ahead and keep your She Crab soup and Boston Baked Beans bro.” Duo laughed, teasing him with a good natured smile. California Polytechnic and MIT were notorious rival schools that housed some of the best engineering and scientific minds in the world. They may have been culturally different, but in the end they always came together to provide society with the most innovative invention and technology.

“I can imagine you in college right now. Lemme paint the picture. Dork. You tucked your t-shirts into a belt, kept your keys on a little ring attached to your belt loop, a notebook in your back pocket with a pen tucked behind your ear ‘in case you have an idea’. Your Friday nights consisted of playin’ D&D, inventing toppings for popcorn and lookin’ at Japanese anime porn.” Duo began to laugh so hard he doubled over, spinning slightly in the microgravity.

“Not exactly.” Trowa crossed his arms over his chest, weaving the ends of the blanket in between them to keep himself warm. “Do I look like I tuck my shirts in with a belt?” He shook his head and gave Duo a sharp look. “What about you? You were probably a stoner, weren’t you? At least I wasn’t wasting my brain cells smoking weed everyday, letting the professionals at the Jet Propulsion Lab carry my school’s reputation. Or were you out surfing instead of attending class? What’s that saying… ‘Surfs up, bro’..? Is that why you have that long, _fabulous_ hair?”

“Oh snap. Okay then, pretty boy. I’m not the only one here with fabulous hair. How long does it take you to style that shit and groom those eyebrows in the mornin’, huh?” Duo snickered, grabbed an unopened juice and tossed it at Trowa playfully. “I may have long hair but at least it’s pretty low maintenance unlike your emo-boy haircut ya got there.”

“So I pluck my eyebrows from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with keeping up one’s appearance.” And there was absolutely no point in styling one’s hair in space. It would just do whatever the hell it wanted anyway. “Is the messy American jealous? Do you want me to fix your eyebrows? Even Gimli has better eyebrows than you.” Trowa tilt his head in the direction of the movie.

Duo frowned and caressed his eyebrows with his finger thoughtfully. “You really think they’re that bad? I mean… I pull out the little hairs in the middle so I’m not rockin’ a unibrow, but…”  He suddenly became self conscious about his face and began smoothing his eyebrows with his thumbs. “At least I don’t look like a damn wolfman like Heero does.”

Trowa was obviously teasing Duo. The American’s eyebrows were just fine. “Are you serious? Heero’s brows are sexy,” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

_SHIT!_

Duo’s hands dropped from his face and his lips curled up into a cheshire grin. “Heeeeyyyy, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. Heero? It’s fuckin’ Heero?!” He grabbed Trowa by the shoulder and pulled him closer, their bodies bumping into each other. “Get outta town. Really? Heh, didn’t know you were into _Japanese_ food, pal!”

“Don't make a big deal out of this… It’s nothing. He’s in a relationship and we’ve never even met. I just find him attractive.” _Extremely attractive._ Trowa gave Duo a pleading look, wanting him to not bring this up to anyone else. 

“Aw, man, it’s okay.” Duo pat Trowa’s shoulder with a sigh. “I won’t tell anyone. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks Heero’s hot. At least I used to, before he was such a dick to me last mission. Heh. Your secret is safe with me.” He gave Trowa another reassuring pat before making a grabby-hand gesture at their snack stash. “Now, pass the peanuts!”

 

* * *

  

“I hardly think that’s fair. You’ve done all of the experiments this week, why don’t you take a break?” Noin hovered directly behind him, hands on Milliardo’ shoulders, bracing herself as she simultaneously kneaded the sore muscles at the base of his neck. “Come lie down.”

“Lie _up_ , you mean,” Milliardo replied without looking up from the paperwork he was obligated to fill out for the University of Tennessee’s botany academics. “Or to the right- or left.”

“Alright, smartass. You know what I meant.” Noin pinched the side of his neck playfully.

“I know you mean to keep me from this work, which I’ve nearly completed. Just let me finish this one thing…”

Noin huffed, her frustration obvious. “Do you really think this is about _work?_ Maybe I’m looking for my husband to give me some attention, what little he can spare, before he passes out for the night. Those seedlings can tend to themselves. It’s not like they’re going to sprout legs and wander off.”

Milliardo paused, his pen hovering over the paper. He looked up and over his shoulder at her, his long platinum ponytail swirling in the air beside his head. “You don’t _know_ that.”

Noin scowled. “Know what?”

“That these irradiated seeds won’t sprout legs…”

“You know what? Fine. Just fine.” Noin gave him a mock pout, attempting to look as hurt as possible. Milliardo couldn’t help but chuckle at her pathetic attempt to guilt him. “I’ll just have to go. All alone. in that _lonely_ closet and hug myself…” she said as pushed off of the nearest wall and floated out of the lab.

Milliardo watched her go with a smirk then returned his attention to his clipboard.

“Don’t come sniffing around, either! My door’s going to be locked!” She called out playfully from the end of the tube-like corridor before vanishing around a corner.

Suddenly another figure floated into the lab and began busily looking for something. Milliardo smiled in greeting.

“Trowa Barton,” he greeted amiably. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that women can’t be as voracious in the matters of the flesh than a man. I don’t keep this physically fit by running on that treadmill.”

“Oh, I know.” Trowa answered, his back turned to his fellow astronaut as he looked around the cluttered room for a specific, recently misplaced personal belonging. Everyone knew Noin visited her husband’s pod on a regular basis and rumor had it that she was insatiable. One perk of being the mission’s commander was getting to break unofficial rules on intimacy. No one harbored ill feelings over it. At most they were all secretly jealous, if not a little lonely.

“Has Duo been in here?” Trowa asked. He had been unable to find his toothbrush and had a feeling Duo was behind its sudden disappearance. The mischievous astronaut liked to pull pranks on unsuspecting team members.

“Yes, about an hour ago. He said something about having to test something in the Biolab,” Milliardo replied, gesturing to the rectangular portable laboratory behind him where the American astronaut had been rummaging through drawers not too long before. “Why? What’s he done now?”  
  
It was only a matter of time before they all paid Duo back for his hijinks, but nobody could think of a single retaliatory prank short of lopping that ridiculous braid off.

Trowa flipped around so he was facing the other. “He’s taken a very bold stance on my hygiene, so it seems.” Hopefully spare toothbrushes were scheduled to come up on the next supply shipment. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the seedlings Milliardo was monitoring. “Do you need help finishing that up?”

“If you’re offering, I wouldn’t say no.” Milliardo handed Trowa a clipboard which had been stuck to the wall with velcro. “I just need specimens 20 through 32 recorded then I’ll be done. Take 20 to 27?”

Milliardo waited until Trowa gave him a nod he smiled and floated back up to the pod where the irradiated seedlings were being held and peered inside. As he wrote down his observations he said casually, “how have you been lately? I haven’t seen you around much. Preparing for the Catalonia Capsule?”

Trowa had grabbed a pencil and a pad and floated up to hover beside Milliardo. “Yes, preparing for the capsule and repairing some of the backup solar panel cells.” He looked at the seedlings and found specimens twenty to twenty-seven. From what he could tell they looked pretty healthy with no obvious abnormalities. He jotted some notes down. “I take it you’re enjoying the married life?”

“It has its advantages,” Milliardo replied, a small smile tickling his mouth. “Though I suppose that this environment poses quite a challenge, even for newlyweds. It's not like one can take a long drive after a disagreement. My attitude is this: if our relationship can survive this, it can survive anything.” He finished his paperwork and pressed the clipboard against the wall, where it stuck fast with velcro. “How have you been holding up? You seem pretty isolated from the rest of the team at times, I hope I don't give off the impression that you aren't invited into our conversations or activities.”

“No, not at all. It’s not that I feel isolated,” Trowa glanced over at the other. In a sense he _was_ isolated. It was apparent that the current team was tight, having been on prior missions together. Being the newest member was always going to be a challenge and he had worked hard to prove his worth, to show that he was more than just a replacement.

“I’m very much a loner.” He turned back to the observation window and studied the seedlings.

The ISS crew was small with only 5 of them assigned to this mission. Out of everyone he spoke to Milliardo the least. Not on purpose, but because their work didn’t cross paths as often. Due to the odd number, Trowa was usually paired up with Duo or Sally. But Milliardo was a veteran astronaut with several missions under his belt. Trowa respected him and admired his dedication and strictness.  

“I've noticed. There's nothing wrong with that. To be honest, it may be a good idea in such a small space anyway. Less potential for conflict.” Milliardo let the weightlessness take him, floating casually in the middle of the science module. He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “NASA does a pretty good job of matching personalities for these things but sometimes cultural differences can't be helped. Are you a ‘loner’ outside of the station, too?”

“Yes.” Trowa didn’t think it had anything to do with cultural differences, it was just how he’d always been. Independant. He worked just fine on teams but tended to revert to his own when given the chance. “You seem much the same.” He said honestly, jotting his last observation down.

Milliardo wasn’t known for being overly social when he didn’t have to be. In his spare time aboard the ISS he could be found reading in random nooks, similar to how Trowa spent his time off listening to music in the observation module. Trowa could tell he liked his alone time. It was a stark contrast compared to his extroverted wife, Commander Noin, but what was that saying? Opposites attract?

Milliardo smirked. “Yes, the same. I enjoy my quiet, though with my outspoken Italian wife and that chatterbox American around. I'm glad. I appreciate how you are. Honestly things are just as they were before. You're very much like your predecessor in that respect.”

By now Trowa had gotten used to everyone comparing him to Heero, it happened so frequently. He had a feeling NASA purposely selected him as backup for this mission not just because he was scheduled for the next, but because he was so similar to the other flight engineer. When he’d been called in to take Heero’s place everything had happened so quickly that he didn’t get a chance to review the other’s personnel file. Aside from interacting with the CAPCOM through verbal connection, everything he knew about Heero he had learned from his crew members. And by watching old ISS!Live videos.

“I’m glad I’ve been able to fill his role.” Trowa attached the pad of paper to the wall and tucked the pen into the metal rings of its binding.

“You've filled his spot and exceeded it,” Milliardo pointed out casually. “You've definitely got your own strengths and have accomplished much concerning your own career. Don't let anyone take that away from you.”

Milliardo kicked off of the nearby wall and sent himself careening in the direction of the doorway Noin had vanished down shortly before. He caught himself on the lip of the entryway and glanced over at Trowa with a sigh. “You're a great astronaut, Trowa Barton. Thanks for your help, I'll finalize and submit that data in the morning.” With that, he tugged at his arms, sending himself vanishing down the rounded corridor in the direction of his sleep pod and leaving Trowa alone to his thoughts.

 

* * *

  

 **_Johnson Space Center_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Wednesday December 17, 2003_**

 

Heero stared down at the unsent email he had been preparing to send to Trowa, his eyes aching from lack of sleep. Ever since his conversation with Quatre at dinner the night before he couldn’t get the Catalonia Capsule off of his mind. He managed to get the survey and NASA engineer’s inspection and had scoured it for any evidence of falsehood. As far as he could tell everything was as it should be, but without having direct access to the supply capsule itself he could only trust the reports and findings of the inspection crew.

The reality of the situation was that everything was probably as it should be, but it was in Heero’s nature to be skeptical. Quatre had planted a seed of doubt within him, and now the weed of concern had bore its roots in his mind, nagging him. Haunting him, keeping him from sleep.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He had taken actions and spent all night composing a secondary checklist for Trowa to use before the docking of the capsule, as well as a list of extra precautions that the team wouldn’t normally take. They included closing off the receiving module and the module behind it, creating two airlocks between the docking bay rather than one, along with extra emergency air masks and other equipment in the event of a coupling failure.

Now it was just a matter of trying to get Trowa on board with the idea without causing a stir in NASA politics. He wasn’t sure what the other Flight Engineer would make of his suggestions. By writing this email Heero was overstepping his role in the team. He knew it would come off as micromanaging the other astronaut, and he wasn’t sure how the other was going to feel about it. He liked to think he had formed a casual friendship with him, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be offended by Heero blatantly coming out and telling him how to do his job.

There was also the issue of NASA and its relationship with the budding space transport agency Catalonia Industries itself. Hiring the capsule to deliver goods to the ISS rather than do it themselves with the shuttle system not only benefited Dorothy Catalonia but it was a huge PR move on NASA’s part. It made the agency look more supportive of space commercialism, as well as flaunted the idea that they were making steps towards efficiency and looking to a joint future with private space agencies.

If Heero came out and openly doubted NASA’s own engineers it would look bad on the agency, especially since his accusations were unfounded. Contacting Trowa directly, privately, and telling him to essentially be careful was the only thing he could do.

Heero knew that in the past he had acquired a reputation for overreaction. In Test Pilot School he was known for being meticulous, sometimes to the point of inefficiency. That tendency benefitted him at NASA, where every action was routinely triple checked for safety. There was no room for error in outer space.

With a sigh he finished composing his email.

_‘I would prefer that we discuss this proposal in person. If you have the time or desire to, please call me ASAP._

_Heero Yuy’_

He stared at his own name for a moment before moving the cursor up to delete the last three letters, simply singing it “HEERO” instead.

Finally satisfied with his correspondence he sent it, frowned, grabbed the satellite phone from his bag on the floor, set it beside his laptop and waited.

Heero didn’t have to wait long for the call.

 

* * *

 

In the early hours of the morning Trowa was still awake up on the ISS. He was restless and had spent most of the night alone, folded up in the observation node with his earbuds in and a book in hand. Eventually he returned to his crew quarters to retire and check his email before attempting to sleep.

Trowa’s eyes scanned Heero’s message, reading it over several times. He frowned. Normally he wouldn’t be okay with someone telling him how to perform his responsibilities, but he trusted Heero, who’d never ordered him around and overstepped his boundaries before. Something wasn’t right.

It was late back in Houston but judging by the time stamp on the email, which had been delivered only an hour ago, it was likely Heero was still awake. Heero suffered from irregular sleep patterns just as he did. He pulled up the private communications terminal on his laptop, selected Heero’s cell phone number, grabbed his headset from the wall and slipped it on over his ears while he waited for the connection to go through.

The familiar sound of ringing buzzed over the line.

Heero had been reading ISS training manuals to pass the time until the other astronaut called him and immediately picked up after the first ring. “Trowa. Thank you for calling me. I hope I didn’t offend you with my email. I know it sounded urgent… I believe it is. Am I… wrong?”

Trowa honestly didn’t know. He respected Heero and wasn’t about to say that his concerns _were not_ valid. But there was no evidence and no reason why they SHOULDN’T trust NASA’s official sign off on the capsule’s scheduled delivery, set to arrive within the next month. “I don’t know a lot about Catalonia Industries. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be a good judge on their intentions, but I agree that this all seems rushed.”

That response sounded lame and Trowa bit the inside of his cheek as he scanned Heero’s email again. “If something isn’t sitting right with you... I would do all that I can to help ease your worries.” He added, referring to the two checklists the CAPCOM had composed. His gut was telling him to trust Heero on this. He couldn’t turn a blind eye now.

“I know I don’t have proof. Someone mentioned their concerns to me last night, and I think it would be better to be more safe than sorry considering…” Heero explained. “I’ve looked over the reports myself. Nothing seems amiss, but considering we _have_ been expediting this capsule delivery and we have no previous experience with their technologies it may not hurt to take some extra precautions. I don’t want anything to happen to you. To… any of you.”

There was a moment of silence between them as Trowa let Heero’s concern sink in. _He doesn’t want anything to happen to me. He’s worried for my safety, that’s what this is about..._

Trowa felt his chest tighten at the realization and quickly composed himself. “Some of the suggestions on your checklists go against NASA protocol,” he pointed out carefully, his voice soft but firm.

“I know.” Heero seemed to hesitate, “I’m asking you to trust me.” He held the phone tightly against his ear, frowning. “I know this risks a lot for you. That you’re the one having to take the actions, not me. If you get in trouble, I’ll take full responsibility and say that it was I who changed the protocol…”

“Heero, no.” Trowa shook his head and chuckled suddenly, despite the very serious discussion. He brought his hand up to his forehead and pushed his hair away from his face. “If I choose to break protocol that is _my_ responsibility and _my_ decision. Not yours.”

The thing was he _did_ trust Heero, and he couldn't fully explain why. He didn’t understand it. They didn’t know each other that well, but something deep inside made him want to believe the other. Right now all he wanted was to ease Heero’s worries. “I’ll think about it…” They still had some time. Trowa would need time to mull it over.

“Alright.” Heero sighed into the receiver. “I won’t hold you up anymore. I should probably head home anyway, the janitor here keeps giving me dirty looks…” The man had been poking his head into the meeting room, waiting for Heero to vacate so he could clean it. “Will you call me in 48 hours with your decision?”

“Yes.” Trowa answered, although he suddenly knew that he’d already made his decision. He would do it. Heero’s added precautions made sense and although they went against protocol, it wouldn’t hurt to use extra caution. He cared about the team as well.

Trowa had  made up his mind, but it was probably wise to sleep on it first. “Go home and sleep, Heero. Stop creeping the janitor out.”

“Goodnight, Trowa.” Heero clicked off the satellite phone and stared down at its glowing face, his mind racing. He couldn’t believe he had done that. He’d gone behind NASA’s back and proposed something that was blatantly against protocol. Part of him felt crazy, like a conspiracy theorist.

 _What’s wrong with me…?_ He thought as he gathered his things, shouldering his bag. He stepped out into the hallway and made his way slowly down to the first floor. _I am obsessing over this, and now I’ve dragged Trowa into it…_ As he made his way across the parking lot and to his car he began to doubt himself for the first time. However, the damage was done. Trowa now was aware of the potential situation. There was no turning back from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The Return Of The King (film) was released December 17, 2003 in the United States.  
> [2] Peter Jackson is a big fan of the NASA space program, and once held a private audience with Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield.  
> [3] California Polytechnic State University: San Luis Obispo, California, United States  
> [4] Massachusetts Institute of Technology: Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States


	7. Chapter 7

**_Johnson Space Center, Blue Flight Control Room_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Monday December 22, 2003_**

 

“A surprise segment? When were you going to _tell_ us? Where’s the script?” The media manager from the local network was pacing between rows of desks in the Blue Flight Control room with Relena in tow, his eyebrow violently twitching. “I thought I made it clear that we were going to review the script from now on? Where’s the script?”

Heero leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. **“That kind of defeats the purpose of a** **_surprise,_ ** **”** he said wryly as the man passed by. His words were picked up by his headset and broadcast over the main connection to the ISS where Duo and Trowa were preparing to go live.

Duo grinned widely and kept out of the camera’s frame and gave a knowing wink to Trowa, his partner in crime.

The media man scowled at Heero’s comment but said nothing to him in response. He had finally learned there was no arguing with the stoic, sarcastic mission CAPCOM. “Well, if this turns out to be some sort of deranged _circus_ like last time, we’re going to have to pull the plug on the program altogether.”

“You can only expect the utmost professionalism from this team,” Relena said briskly, a frown forming on her face. “I’m sure that whatever the astronauts have planned is tasteful.”

“We’ll see,” the media rep said with a sour expression. “Well, count them down,” he snapped at Heero irritably.

Unfazed, Heero turned back to the monitor and sighed. **_“Going live in 10, 9, 8,”_ ** he saw Duo’s braid float into the frame before it was quickly yanked out of view. **“5, 4, 3, 2- we’re live.”**

The camera was empty for the first few seconds until Trowa floated up from the bottom of the frame, waving his hand in greeting. “Welcome to International Space Station LIVE! I’m Flight Engineer Trowa Barton and today I’m going to answer a rather popular question, one we’ve received multiple times.” He folded his legs underneath him, sitting cross-legged while hovering comfortably in the air. “Our curious viewers wanted to know: ‘Can you play an instrument in space?’ ”

The sight of the astronaut at the center screen made the media rep relax. It was the serious-faced flight engineer and not the goofy science officer who had, in his opinion, muddled up the last live broadcast with his childish antics.

Heero looked from the suddenly relaxed media rep to Relena, who hovered behind him, her face pink with frustration. He didn’t envy her job. He would have been fired months ago had it been him having to wrangle the high strung media man. He gave her a small nod of encouragement before turning back to look at the monitor where Trowa was preparing to start his surprise broadcast. He had no idea what the other astronaut had prepared to do and it was thrilling to think that something _unexpected_ was about to happen on such a structured and organized station.

Trowa reached off camera, fumbling around for something before pulling an acoustic guitar into the frame. He cradled the base in his lap and gave the audience a playful smirk and casual shrug. “It's a good thing Santa stopped by early to give me this.”

It was one of his own personal guitars, a special item that he’d had shipped up to the ISS a few months before. He had spent the majority of his time practicing hidden in his pod, with only the crew on board aware of its presence there. He positioned his hand around the neck of the guitar while his right hand casually strummed the strings, playing a few pleasant chords before saying, “so to answer your question; yes, you _can_ play instruments in outer space.”

There was a small circular window at the back of the node, just off sight of the camera. The astronaut looked in its direction. “I know you can’t see it, but we have an amazing view of the sun rising here right now.” He looked back at the camera and strummed the strings again. “It reminds me of one of my favorite childhood songs… maybe you’ve heard of it before? It goes a little something like this,”  

The first few notes rang out in the small area of the ISS. Trowa bent his head and closed his eyes as he started to play a happy little tune. “Here comes the sun,” _doo doo doo doo._ “Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right,”

“Aww, isn’t this sweet,” one of the media representative’s companions said as the handsome astronaut on screen began to play the old, classic Beatles tune, fingers slipping up and down the neck of his guitar with practiced ease. Heero raised an eyebrow at the woman before staring up at the monitor, transfixed. Despite having seen a guitar in Trowa’s apartment he was still surprised to see him playing, and the sound of his voice singing in clear, pure notes was one of the most pleasant things he had ever heard. A sharp, tingling sensation raced up his spine and goosebumps formed along his forearms. Trowa rarely ever raised his voice above a conversational tone, let alone _sang_.

As he sat casually in the center of the monitor, singing directly into the camera, Trowa looked more stunning than Heero had ever seen him. His normally placid expression melted away to reveal a face that reflected the sentiment of the song he sang. He looked peaceful, hopeful for the future, and brightly optimistic. Despite the thousands of people that were surely watching the live broadcast he seemed completely at ease while performing.

A couple of verses into the song Trowa was suddenly accompanied by a second figure wearing a red Santa hat floated across the monitor behind him, strumming a small ukulele in time with Trowa’s chords, braid swinging and coiling behind him cheerfully as he passed by. Duo harmonized his voice with Trowa’s as he floated casually in and out of the frame, joining him for the chorus:

“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…  
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…”

The ridiculous sight of Duo floating through the air while playing a ukulele forced a smile onto Trowa’s lips. It was impossible NOT to smile when he heard this melody. It reminded him of his father, who used to sing this classic Beatles song to him when he was a little boy to keep him from being afraid of the dark. He had always told him that if he simply serenaded the sun that it would come when he called it. To this day Trowa found himself humming the tune out of habit whenever he was nervous, anxious or plunged into darkness.

The repetitive chorus faded and Duo flew off camera again, leaving Trowa alone. The sun was peeking in through the small window, casting amber streams of light over the musician astronaut, reflecting off the shiny equipment lining the node’s walls. “Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting… Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear… Here comes the sun,”

Skilled fingers continued to work the strings as Trowa brought the song to an end. “Here comes the sun and I say it’s all right… It's all right.”

As the song ended a hush fell over the flight control room, which was finally broken by the media representative slapping his hands together with loud applause. Relena was staring at the man, shocked, and then forced her hands together to join him. The rest of the flight controllers and media personnel followed suit.

“That’s it for this session of ISS Live!” Duo said cheerfully from the background, his santa hat bobbing around with his long braid behind him as he waved into the camera. “Until next time! Merry Christmas, and Happy Chanukah!”

Heero stared up at the monitor for a long moment, stunned and strangely dissatisfied. It had ended too soon. He didn’t know what he had expected as he sat there, waiting. It wasn’t likely that Trowa would provide him an encore.

 **_“Broadcast ending in 3...2...1,”_ ** Heero murmured reluctantly into the microphone, eyes locked onto the monitor above. **_“End Transmission.”_ ** _That was beautiful,_ he thought, his mind failing to put his thoughts into words.

“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant,” the media rep said loudly as the broadcast cut off. “We want _that_ kind of quality content every broadcast. Have him arrange another performance like that next week. HIM. The tall one,” the man insisted to Relena, who flushed for a moment before she tried to explain that Trowa Barton had other duties he was responsible for on the station.

As the broadcast ended Duo floated up to Trowa and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him playfully. “You nailed it! That was fuckin’ amazing,” he exclaimed enthusiastically.

“It was nice to try something different.” Trowa said, releasing the guitar to allow it to freefloat at his side. “And I think YOU redeemed yourself from last time. Nice job on the ukulele, Santana.”

“Yeah, well, people don’t ever like the second guitarist as much as the front man, right?” Duo grinned happily.  
  
**_“ … the local media want to know if you can … do that again,”_ ** Heero’s voice suddenly spoke up over the speaker system. **_“-next week.”_ **

“I feel like it would lose it’s magic if I played each time.” Trowa answered, looking back at the camera as if he could see Heero. Of course he couldn’t.

 **_“I agree…”_ ** Heero said softly. **_“I’ll let them know.”_ **

Duo blinked and leaned down to speak quietly into Trowa’s ear. “They want another one next week, I say we give ‘em a variety show. You know any ‘Zepplin?” He teased.

“I might know _Stairway to Heaven_ …” But the purpose of International Space Station LIVE! was not to put on concerts, but to educate. Trowa shook his head.

“What, really? Good enough for me,” Duo said with a smile. He curled his arm around Trowa’s shoulders and smirked. “All right, guys. Santana and Robert Plant here, signin’ off. And remember, I see you when you’re sleepin’. I know when you’re awake,” Duo said, chuckled, winked and tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “So ya better be good. Hohoho!”

 

* * *

 

 **_Lake Houston Loft Apartments_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Wednesday January 01, 2004_**

 

_Heero’s hands tightened around the narrow, slender waist of the body bent over in front of him, his hips moving on their own accord to allow his dripping, hardened arousal to plunge slowly into the deepest part of the willing, writhing body in front of him._

_There was no sound. His own lips parted to release the notes of his own pleasure but he couldn’t hear them. Silence stifled any noise, any moans or soft sighs were strangely muted. No, the only verification Heero received was a sudden shift of the hips beneath his hands and the ass in front of him pushing back against him, rocking, taking him in deeper, tightening around his throbbing arousal as if in silent encouragement, wanting him to give it his all._

The sensation of fingernails slowly raking across Heero’s shoulder roused him from sleep. He opened his eyes and attempted to blink away the previous night’s champagne from his eyes to look at the clock. It was January 1st, 2004. The clock read 2:00 am, jolting his sluggish, hungover mind into action. He was back home in his apartment and curled up warm in his bed.

It was the first day of the new year and he had to get to work.

The fingernails scraped against his bare shoulder again. He pushed himself up onto an elbow and looked back to eye the body in the bed behind him, even though he didn’t need to _see_ who lie there to know who it was. Despite having downed two bottles of champagne the night before his memory had miraculously remained sharp and intact.

“Good morning,” Relena murmured, smirking at him before she buried her face into one of his pillows. “Are you going to call out today?”

 _Shit._ Heero frowned. “No.” He stood up, untangled is naked body from his sheets and sulked off to hide in the bathroom.

As he stepped into the shower he took stock of the state of his body. His legs were stiff, sore as if he had run a marathon the night before. He supposed that fucking Relena for God knew how long could easily have been confused for an Ironman Triathlon. He groaned, grit his teeth and dumped his fresh, ocean-scented body wash across his torso and began vigorously scrubbing at himself with his bath sponge. He knew that he could wash away the dried sweat and liquid sex from his person, but that there was nothing he could do to erase the heavy, nagging sense of regret and shame he felt.

He knew he had fucked up. Sleeping with Relena had been a mistake. What little progress they had made after their breakup was now null and void. While he knew that it was common for people to hook up occasionally after breaking apart he still was ashamed of himself for having let his guard down. He let her in, even after spending months erecting protective walls around himself to keep her at bay. All it had taken was a few bottles of alcohol and a hand job in the taxi and he had given in.

 _I’m so fucking weak,_ he chastised himself with a sigh, turned the water to its coldest setting and let it dump down over his head, flushing away the suds and frustration that had bubbled to the surface. As he finished washing up the previous night’s events began to replay across his thoughts.

He had attended NASA’s end of the year celebrations the previous evening and had dropped in for the New Year’s party the organization had held in a rented space at a local bar.

Initially he hadn’t intended on attending the mixer, but after the end of the year event at mission control he had encountered Relena in the parking lot. Her date had cancelled on her and she was stranded, hailing an Uber to pick her up. Heero had felt sorry for her. She had changed into more revealing bar hopping clothes and had seemed pretty disappointed that her date hadn’t come. He had offered to give her a ride to the venue. Relena had used her powers of persuasion and before he knew it he was in the bar with her hanging off of his arm, having drink after drink as the crowd waited for the ball to drop. The majority of the flight control team had been there, along with Dorothy Catalonia.

Heero had been trying to get time alone all day with Dorothy during the end of year event but she had always managed to evade him. Finally he had a chance to talk to her alone. Using Relena to break the ice he had confronted her about the capsule program and had told her he had some concerns.

Unfortunately she had taken a few shots before their conversation and had blatantly told him that if he continued to talk about work she was going to manually castrate him, laughed and sashayed away to bully Wufei into buying her a drink.

His personal mission had been a failure and, in his frustration, he had thrown back a few more drinks to keep himself from chasing her down and insisting that she listen. A half an hour later the ball dropped and Relena had thrown herself on his lap and kissed him. Forty-five minutes later he was in the back of a taxi, headed back to his place with one of Relena’s hands firmly planted in his pants. The rest of the night was a blur, but it was obvious what had happened.

Despite the fact that he was technically single and not obligated to anyone else he still felt guilty for having done what he had with Relena. Not only had he complicated their situation by allowing her to think that there was even a sliver of possibility that they could get back together, but he felt like he had betrayed his growing affections for Trowa. Even though he had never admitted his admiration for the other astronaut he still felt a strong sense of loyalty to him.

He dried off, shaved, brushed his teeth and ran his hands through his hair -his only way of styling it- and then trudged naked, back out into his bedroom. Relena was nearly dressed and hovering in front of the mirror that hung over his dresser while fixing her hair.

“It’s okay,” she said over her shoulder as she slid a bobby pin into the messy bun she had formed at the top of her head. “This doesn’t mean we’re going to get back together.”

Heero paused in front of his closet and looked at her. His expression must have clearly reflected his surprise. She smiled at him in the reflection of the mirror. “I know you’ve moved on. So have I. It’s just… old habits die hard, and you were looking too damn sexy with a drink in your hand last night.”

Heero sighed. “So you used me…?” He turned back to his closet, picking out a plain pair of blue slacks and a complimenting pale, powder blue shirt.

“More or less,” she teased as she tucked her own blouse into her skirt. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“Let’s not make this a habit,” Heero muttered as he buttoned his shirt. He didn’t want to lead her on or let her think that he was willing to mess around with her in the future. This had been a mistake. A BIG mistake.

Relena laughed softly and nodded. “Agreed. I don’t think my body can take any more of that, anyway. I guess I’ve gotten soft.” She slid her feet into her heels and grabbed her bag from a nearby chair. “Drive me home? I don’t think I can sit at my desk all day, not after last night.”

Heero grabbed his shoes and nodded. “Sure.”

They left his apartment and walked down to his car. As he opened the door for her she kissed him on the cheek before dropping down into the passenger seat. Her affectionate gesture and carefree attitude did very little to ease his discomfort with the situation. He had never done anything like this before. He wasn’t a one night stand kind of guy, and even though this was someone he had once dated, he still felt dirty about it. Used. Guilty.

The drive to Relena’s place was quiet, except for her occasional attempt to lighten the mood with stories about the night before. She hopped out of the car in good spirits and waved him off with a smile.

 _At least I haven’t hurt her,_ he thought morosely. He drove to work in silence, the radio chatter only agitating his lingering hangover more. He couldn’t help feeling like he had betrayed himself, and was disappointed that he had given into his own sexual urges.

The most disturbing thing about the entire night hadn’t been the fact that he had slept with Relena, but that she had woken up him from a dream that had overshadowed their night together. He could recall bits and pieces of the dream in which he had been doing the same things he had done that night with Relena, except that the body beneath him belonged to someone else.

It had been Trowa.

His face burst into flame at the thought. He ducked his head to hide his feverish blush from the security guard at the Johnson Space Center parking lot, cleared his throat and tried to push the intensely detailed, arousing images from his mind.

 _What kind of asshole am I?_ He thought bitterly as he parked, exited his car and sulked into the building. Leftover decorations from the previous day’s New Year’s celebrations still hung in the lobby. It was unusually quiet in the building, a few familiar faces from the secretaries and press offices were missing, no doubt staying home to nurse themselves back to health after having one too many flutes of holiday champagne.

When Heero ducked into the meeting room designated for change of shift reports he spotted Bernadette, the night shift CAPCOM, seated at the long table. She was sipping something bubbly out of a short, clear plastic cup and smiled at him as he walked in.

“Long night?” She teased, gesturing to a bottle of sparkling cider in front of her. The flight controllers weren’t allowed to drink while on duty. “Want some?”

“No, thank you.” Heero slumped down into the chair beside her and pulled out his notebook and pen. “Good night?”

Bernadette smirked and nodded. “Yeah, it was great until _someone_ decided to shoot off some confetti in the Zarya module. They spent a good hour with the hand vac trying to pick the bits out of some of the Russian experiments. Oddly enough, it wasn’t Duo this time.”

Heero was scribbling notes. He looked up with a raised eyebrow, surprised. “No?”

“Nope. Sally.” Bernadette laughed. “She had never seen a New Years popper before, so someone sent one in the last shipment as a gift, and apparently the supply screeners had no idea what was in it. An honest mistake. It was hilarious though, her face when the glitter exploded in her hands was priceless.”

“They get it all cleaned up?” Heero asked, frowning. The space behind his eyes ached, his legs cramping under the table. _Maybe I should have stayed home…?_

“Most of it. I’m sure that some of them will have a little sparkle to them for a few days, I know Barton was beside her at the time and got a facefull.”

Heero didn’t envy any of the astronauts on the ISS right now. Glitter was already a pain in the ass to get rid of on Earth, it was going to last years in space. “The Russians know about it yet?”

Bernadette laughed. “Unfortunately their rep was watching the livestream at the time. It was… yeah. So anyway, the glitter incident.” She checked that off of her list of things to report to him and continued filling him in on the previous night’s activities. There was nothing else out of the ordinary in the report. The astronauts had held a small New Year’s gathering of their own while they watched the ball drop various parts of the world, timing it as they passed by. Apparently they had also made their own ball drop out of a shiny, silver mylar space blanket and, with Milliardo’s well-timed calculations, passed the ball through some sort of homemade hoop in accordance with the strike of midnight Universal Standard Time.

After he had received his report Heero entered the Blue Flight Control room. Everyone was accounted for and already at their stations. The usual murmuring of morning small talk was absent. Their flight director was hunched over at her desk, head in hands, groaning softly to herself.

Heero sat down and began his morning decontamination routine, slathered his hands with sanitizer and logged into the system. Behind him he could hear Wufei giving one of the other flight controllers advice on how to get rid of a migraine. Relena’s desk was empty.

“Good morning, controllers,” the flight director said from her station, not looking up. Everyone muttered a greeting in reply. Heero slid his headset on and opened his connection to the ISS. Above, on the main monitor, Noin was busy fiddling with something in the corner. There wasn’t any sign of the rest of the crew.

“CAPCOM Heero Yuy signing on,” he said in his usual tone, “it is …” he paused and checked the time. “0930 UTC, January 1st, 2004. Good morning, crew.”

Noin looked up from her work and smiled at the camera. “Happy New Year, CAPCOM!”

Heero nodded, even though Noin couldn’t see him. “Happy New Year, Noin.”

She chuckled and returned her attention to her work. Heero skimmed through the data stream constantly refreshing on one of his monitors and then opened his work email. The usual items were there. Checklists, memos for various mundane things, and then an email entitled, ‘Happy New Year Flight Controllers’, with a large attachment. Heero read over the general salutations of the email text and then opened the email. It was a video file. It quickly downloaded and began to play, its audio broadcasted through his headset.

It was a video of the entire crew congregated in one of the more spacious nodes. They were all dressed festively with pointed party hats, holding party blowers. Duo was covered from head to toe with multicolored streamers. Their makeshift ball was floating in the background, along with a shiny banner that read ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR’! in festive lettering. There was an open laptop nearby with a live stream of the New York City festivities. All of the astronauts were holding sealed beverage pouches in hand, more than likely sparkling grape juice or ciders as there was no alcohol allowed on the station.

80’s rock music provided some background noise, a tune he couldn’t precisely identify. Duo floated into the forefront of the screen, smirking gleefully as he addressed the camera. “Happy New Years, hope everyone’s had a great one! Here on the International Space Station we’re plannin’ on havin’ a little ball drop of our own. We drew straws and decided to do ours in time with the big ball in New York City.” He gestured over his shoulder at the homemade mylar orb hovering beneath its receiving hoop which appeared to have been woven out of wires and old, spare antenna cable.

“Hey, Milliardo! How much time do we have?” Duo called over to the blonde floating in front of the laptop. Milliardo adjusted his pointed party hat and frowned.

“Thirty seconds,” he supplied coolly. Noin appeared behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck affectionately.

“Alright! We have thirty seconds to outline some of our colleague's accomplishments! Miss Sally Po here has logged a total of ten hours EVA time, making her the most seasoned spacewalker on our crew!” Duo said with a grin, pointing to Sally who tooted her noisemaker in response.

“Trowa Barton here has spent the last few months upgrading the station’s solar cells, making us more efficient and power-savvy. Great job, Tro! Lucrezia Noin-Peacecraft and Milliardo Peacecraft are our first married couple to ever work at the station simultaneously! And guess what? They’re still alive. Congrats, guys! What a honeymoon, huh?”

Milliardo sighed and made a circle with his fingertip, as if to tell Duo to wrap it up. “Fifteen seconds…”

“Okay, this is it!” Duo shoved himself up to the makeshift ball and grabbed it, measured the distance away from the hoop with a piece of measuring tape and held it at the ready then gave it a gentle, steady push. It floated slowly upwards. “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!!”

There was an analog clock at the back of the room. When both of its hands lined up on the twelve the crew broke out in loud cheers. Noin pulled her husband in for a kiss, while Duo and Sally both locked eyes on an unsuspecting Trowa. It was tradition to kiss someone at midnight on New Year's, but there was an odd number of crewmembers, which meant someone wasn’t getting a kiss.

“Hey, now, for the last 15 years I’ve planted a wet smooch on _someone_ , there’s no way I’m breakin’ tradition!” Duo exclaimed as he grabbed Trowa’s arm and gave it a firm tug in his direction, causing the noisemaker that hung from Trowa’s mouth to slip out and comically suspend itself in the air. Duo swatted it away and leaned in to make his move.

Suddenly Sally was there, intercepting Duo as she wasted no time placing her hands on either side of the flight engineer’s handsomely confused face. “Happy New Year, Trowa,” she whispered and then eagerly pressed their lips together.

“Hey, no fair!” Duo reluctantly let go of Trowa’s arm and turned to the camera, a frown gracing his youthful features. “Well if I can’t kiss anyone here then I guess I’ll just have to improvise…” He kicked off the wall and propelled himself over to the camera, grasping it with one hand and saluting it with the other. “Happy New Year everyone!” The video ended with Duo’s lips pressed against the camera lens before the screen faded to black.

Heero stared at the black screen, the pounding throb of his hangover becoming more intense with each passing second. He didn’t know what to think about what he had just seen, the shock still coursing fresh within him. Had Duo tried to kiss Trowa on television? Trowa didn’t appear to have fought it. However, Sally had beaten Duo to it. Had any of that been planned or was it all just an act?

He couldn’t help but be envious. Jealous. Frustrated. Confused. The mixture of emotions reared their ugly heads in unison. He frowned and rubbed his temples with his fingertips and scowled down at his keyboard.

 _I have no right to feel this way_ , he told himself desperately. _I just spent the entire evening in the company of a gorgeous woman. Why should I be jealous that Sally stole a kiss from Trowa?_ Despite how illogical it was to be jealous of Sally and Duo he couldn’t help himself. The one person he wanted the most out of everyone in the world was overhead in orbit, so out of reach and absolutely unattainable.

A sour sensation filled the back of his throat and an unshakable wave of nausea coursed through him. He couldn’t tell if it was merely a side effect of his hangover or the manifestation of the negativity he felt.

It hurt. It hurt to not be able to tell the person he obsessed over everyday that he cared for him. It was painful to watch others take advantage of a moment that should have been _his._

Above all else a single thought rose from the turbulent torrent of his mind.

_Does Trowa even like men?_

He had never really seriously considered it until now. With Trowa having a son and willingly kissing a woman on camera, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Trowa’s sexuality _was._ Heero had always been attracted to men and women, but he knew that he was an unusual case. Seeing Duo grabbing at Trowa’s face had been startling. He had known that Duo tended to hookup with guys, the American had made that more than clear many times during their year of pre-mission training, but what about the French astronaut?

Heero sighed and ran his hands through his hair, knocking the headset from his ears as he did so. _I’ve given up Relena, suspended my life, and spent hours obsessing over someone I probably can never have._

“Yuy? Are you okay?”

Heero sat up and saw Wufei peering over the top of his desk at him, his concern magnified through the thick lenses of his rounded reading glasses. Heero nodded and grabbed his headset to readjust the cups over his ears.

“Yeah. Had too much to drink last night,” he muttered in response, turning his attention back to the monitor in front of him.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Johnson Space Center, Mission Control_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Monday January 12, 2004_**

 

“Today’s the day!” Dorothy Catalonia announced happily as she peered at herself in a small, round compact mirror, adjusting the fringe of her bangs, poking and prodding her face. “It’s been a long time coming, don’t you think?”

Relena smiled and nodded. “Yes, it’s been a lot of work, but it all seems like it will be well worth it. You’ll be making history today.” She was following Dorothy around the Blue Flight Control room with her clipboard and cell phone, tending to the transport executive’s needs.

Heero resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned his attentions back to the monitors on his desk, his expression hardening into a dour frown.

There was no way that Relena was _actually_ that excited about the day’s events. Everyone had been loathing it. Poor Quatre had been working day and night for the past two weeks with his team preparing for the logistics of such an endeavor. The flight control room was filled with strangers; representatives of the media, public relations agents from Catalonia Industries and official observers from other space agencies.

Relena was right about one thing. It was a day that would go down in history. Up until recently the transportation of goods and astronauts to the International Space Station had been controlled by NASA’s Space Shuttle Program and the Russian Space Agency, who tended to take turns shipping goods via disposable rockets up to the lower earth orbit. Dorothy Catalonia had single-handedly developed a reliable, reusable rocket that could propel goods and, eventually astronauts, up to the space station. By championing and patenting this new technology she had driven her own transport costs down, which gave NASA incentive to contract transport of goods to her company[1].

Today the first capsule from a private company would be docking with the ISS, and Heero was _still_ hesitant about it. Despite his and Quatre’s attempts to postpone the transport for further capsule testing the transport had continued as planned.

Heero hadn’t slept in two days. His mind wouldn’t cease analyzing the situation, over and over again. He found himself staying up hours scouring the official sign-offs and inspection reports for any sign of error, but had found none.

He sucked down the last remaining bit of his lukewarm black coffee and looked up at the main monitor overhead. The space station was abuzz with activity as the astronauts were preparing for the arrival of their new supplies. Preparation required reorganization of the remaining goods, shuffling around packages and boxes, and preparations for the capsule to be snatched and docked. Milliardo was heading and managing this supply shipment from the station. He occasionally floated across the screen, unusually energetic, barking orders at the others who wove in and out of the station’s many maze-like tunnels and corridors, doing his bidding.

Heero checked the time on the digital clock mounted at the top of his desk. The capsule had launched from Wallops Island, Virginia[2] two hours ago. It was set to arrive at the station within the hour.

“Alright, get my good side. Yes, right here in front of this NASA symbol. Make sure you get that thingy in the background,” Dorothy instructed her personal photographer as she positioned herself in front of the splash wall at the back of the control room.

“That’s the official International Space Station expedition logo,” Relena supplied wearily.

“Yes, that thing,” Dorothy said, waving Relena out of the frame with a hand so she could appropriately pose.

Heero hung his head and sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.

 

* * *

  

“Preparin’ for berthing,” Duo announced happily over his headset, his hands deftly manipulating the controls of the long robotic arm of the Canadarm2[3] as it grappled for the Catalonia Industries Supply Capsule. In the background his personal tape player was playing Dead or Alive’s “ _You Spin Me Round_ ”, cheerfully filling the station’s cupola with upbeat music as he focused on his delicate robotics work. “Should be docked in fifteen, guys.”

Milliardo frowned as he floated in the center of the station’s Harmony node while they waited for Duo to capture, lure and dock the newly arrived supply capsule. The faint sound of Duo’s ‘concentration music’ drifted down the hallway.

“How can he even think with that racket?” Milliardo muttered to the other astronaut as he crossed his arms with a frown. “I can only imagine what it sounds like in that brilliant head of his.” Milliardo liked Duo Maxwell enough, he just didn’t get his unusual concentration tactics. He assumed that it must be an American thing. He ran his fingers through his long, platinum blonde bangs and forced a smile at Trowa.

“I know you’re worried about this capsule dock thing but you should have more faith in our NASA engineers. They’re the best the world has to offer, we have nothing to worry about.”

A few days earlier Trowa Barton had suggested that they take a set of unusual precautions when it came to the coupling and docking of the incoming Catalonia Capsule. While Milliardo admired the young flight engineer’s thoroughness and thoughtful consideration he didn’t think all of the extra, pointless modifications to docking procedure were necessary. Trowa had seemed frustrated with him - as frustrated as the usually stoic, quiet astronaut could be - but after explaining the situation to him the new astronaut had finally conceded that he was right and that they probably had nothing to worry about.

So far the launch from Earth had been flawless. The capsule was being delivered exactly as it was outlined, precisely on time. Milliardo didn’t think it was necessary to lengthen the time of that process, especially since the world below was watching with bated breath, waiting for the historic moment where the commercial capsule would join with the station. There was no point in mucking up what had formerly been seamless, efficient protocol with confusion and redundant extra steps.

The distant humming of the robotic arm was soon joined by the loud, heavy thunking sound of the capsule slipping and moving against the Harmony node’s hub as it prepared to dock.

“Ten minutes. Noin’s runnin’ the prelims. We’re right on schedule,” Duo’s voice informed energetically. Milliardo nodded.

“See? It’s perfectly fine,” Milliardo said to Trowa, smirking as he adjusted his headset and microphone. He could tell that the flight engineer wasn’t 100% convinced. Milliardo could remember the first time he had done something out of the normal NASA training procedure. He had been a nervous wreck, too.

“Yeah,” Trowa responded, his expression impassive.

A few minutes later the distinctive sound of the newly arrived capsule being locked into the Harmony hub filled the node. A loud whirring sound was followed by the hiss of the capsule being sealed to the station. Milliardo handed Trowa a small, precaution mask to protect them from any dust or debris that may have been collected on the outside of the capsule, or from any of the supplies and chemicals within the capsule itself being opened and shifted around during launch. Milliardo slipped his over his own head, positioned it over his mouth and waited for Trowa to do the same.

Receiving supplies was a routine occurrence that happened at least once during every astronaut’s expedition. Earlier that month they had received a fresh batch of scientific experiments from the European Space Agency, launched by the Russians. The procedure was to the point, typical, and short. Once the capsule was berthed to the hub everything became sealed off, allowing the astronauts easy access into the supply chamber without any need to don EMU suits or specialized gear. The modified gas masks were simply an extra precaution.

**_“Station, Houston, for space-to-ground- 2. You have a go, set 6, for ingressing Catalonia Capsule,”_ ** Heero said over the shared connection once he got the all clear from the station staff and the flight director. Milliardo nodded and reached out to finger the mylar-covered, reflective sealed door of the capsule and began the process of unsealing it. He gestured to his right where a set of four bolts needed loosening before they could access the capsule. The flight engineer shouldered in beside him with the space drill and began loosening them one by one. Finally, once everything was unhinged Milliardo grabbed the circular steel wheel handle and gave it a firm, hard twist.

 

* * *

  

“It’s official! I know many of you have doubted this project from the start, and that’s okay. I forgive you. You’re still invited to my celebratory mixer tonight at the Black Light Lounge, anyway,” Dorothy announced to the entire flight control room. She cast a pointed look at Heero, who was glaring at her from his seat.

Suddenly every computer monitor and screen began to flicker and blink with red warnings.

Franklin Todd, the mission’s Environmental Control and Life Support Systems (ECLSS) controller stood up from his seat, staring up at the overhead monitor. “Get them out of there,” he yelled, pointing at the massive overhead monitor. The display was distorted, as the camera shook violently. Alarms and alerts were blaring in a chaotic chorus all around them, frantic voices rising from each station as Milliardo opened Pandora’s Box. In doing so, the entire Harmony module became filled with rushing air as it rapidly depressurized.

Heero’s training kicked in immediately, his thoughts becoming one with the mission flight director who was barking orders at everyone from the front of the room. Hours of emergency training had triggered the ground control team, who were beginning to activate various overrides to try and stabilize the station and it’s unexpectedly penetrated node.

**_“Barton, Peacecraft, code Blue. Evacuate. Quick-don masks, evacuate Harmony,”_ ** Heero directed them as clearly as he could, his entire body tensing as he watched Trowa lunge for Milliardo on the distorted main screen. The visuals were unreliable, it was difficult to make out exactly what was happening or where the breach was located. He could hear yelling over the community channel. Duo was saying something, Sally’s voice blending with his, both voices incoherent.

**_“Barton, evacuate,”_ ** Heero said again, more firmly as he watched the flight engineer groping a gloved hand around for Milliardo, who was clinging onto the edge of the capsule’s seal. An unseen force seemed to have grabbed his legs, his body straining against it as he was sucked inside the supply capsule.

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?!” Dorothy’s voice was shrill behind him. “WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO THE CAPSULE?!”

The ECLSS was yelling at the top of his lungs in an attempt to speak up over Dorothy and her team. “Internal breach! The capsule is depressurizing rapidly, we need to seal off Harmony!”

Trowa was yelling, but Heero couldn’t make out what he was saying through the disturbance. **_“Barton, seal Harmony,”_ ** he said loudly, although his words seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

“Oh MY GOD,” Dorothy was chanting over and over again behind him. Heero clenched the edge of his desk with his fingers to keep his body in his chair. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breath quickened as he watched Trowa fight against the pull of the vacuum of space in an attempt to fish Milliardo out of the mouth of the capsule. He had yet to put his emergency oxygen on.

The camera focused for a moment, allowing Heero to see an instant clear picture of the situation at hand. Milliardo was clinging to Trowa’s arm. Trowa had grabbed onto a nearby tether and was clutching onto Milliardo’s forearm with his other hand, his own face pale. Heero had experienced depressurization in training before. Trowa and Milliardo were losing oxygen, and it was likely that the air in their lungs was being sucked out by the dark void of space beyond the capsule. Milliardo was slipping.

“CAPCOM!” The flight director yelled from the front of the room. Heero realized that he had zoned out, his lips had stopped moving. He tore his eyes away from the overhead monitor, closed them and spoke as calmly as he could.

**_“Trowa. I know you can hear me. You NEED to seal Harmony. You need to let him go… let him go.”_ **

For the first time since the incident began he heard a ragged noise over the COM. _“I can’t…”_ Trowa’s voice was hoarse, barely audible over the rushing sound of the node being drained of atmosphere.

**_“If you don’t seal Harmony, the others are going to die.”_ ** Heero felt helpless, sitting at his desk, listening to Trowa’s strained noises and pained gasps as they filled his ears. **_“You HAVE to let him go. Now. There’s no time.”_ **

All around Heero the din of panic was rising. The automatic sealing unit for Harmony hadn’t activated. Trowa was going to have to seal off the node himself, otherwise more than one node was going to be compromised.

Wufei’s voice floated over the COM. _“Internal temperatures reaching 0 degrees Celsius and falling!”_

“Someone do something…. DO SOMETHING,” Relena was chanting from her desk at the back of the room.

Heero didn’t look up, his entire focus centered on the frightened voice on the opposite end of the COM. **_“They’re going to die, Trowa. Seal Harmony_ **.”

Suddenly there was a collective gasp in the room, and Trowa’s voice on the other end gave a weakened shout. Heero looked up just in time to see Milliardo’s hand vanish into the darkness of the capsule.

“He let go! Oh… oh my God,” one of Dorothy’s press people gasped. The room was strangely silent compared to the chaos from only seconds before.

**_“Your oxygen mask is hanging to your left,”_ ** Heero instructed firmly. **_“Hurry, grab it, put it over your face. You need to seal the node. Can you pull yourself to the hatch?”_ **

He watched as Trowa, stunned for a moment, weakly looked up and fumbled with the emergency mask. He yanked his gas mask down around his neck and replaced it with the emergency oxygen, flicked the nozzle and carefully began using the rungs attached to the floor of the node to climb for the exit.

_“He’s moving too slowly,_ ” Wufei said, his voice laden with worry, muttered over the COM. “ _He’s going to black out.”_

**_“You’re doing well. One rung at a time. Breathe, Trowa. In through your nose-deep. Out through your mouth. You’re getting closer. Three more, that’s it. Breathe, okay?”_ ** Heero watched as Trowa crawled against the unrelenting suction from the breach and slowly made his way to the exit.

**_“You’re not going to black out. You’re going to make it out, seal the node. You’re doing fine. Breathe, Trowa_ ** … _”_ Heero wished he could believed his own. The truth was that they were running out of time and Trowa was moving too slow, but he didn’t want him to panic.

“Maxwell and Po are prepared to seal at the Destiny Lab,” the flight director announced loudly. “How much time do we have before the station’s atmosphere becomes unstable?”  
  
“Thirty seconds at most,” ECLSS replied.

Heero frowned. If Trowa couldn’t get out of the compromised Harmony node in time the rest of the crew would be forced to close him off at the next seal.

**_“Almost there. Come on. One hand over the other. It’s okay, you’re going to be fine, Trowa. That’s right, pull. Nearly there.”_ ** Trowa’s hand slipped.

Dorothy was beside herself at the back of the room, chattering away at Relena about liability and how she would need to contact her lawyers before she would make a statement. Heero tried not to listen to her and refocused on the astronaut struggling on screen.

“Fifteen seconds,” ECLSS announced.

**_“Okay, that’s it.”_ ** Heero could see through the distorted camera feed that Trowa had pulled himself up through the connecting doorway between Harmony node and the Destiny Lab. **_“You’re going to make it. Clear the entryway and activate the emergency seal. It’s located on the bottom, right hand side. Yes, that’s right. Open the cover and twist the emergency override handle.”_ **

The seal hatch slammed closed, shutting off the space station from the damaged and unstable Harmony node. The Destiny Lab’s camera immediately stabilized. Trowa’s body spasmed beside the closed hatch and floated limply beside the emergency switch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Catalonia Industries is modeled after modern day Vector|SPACEX, headed by the infamous and innovative Elon Musk.  
> [2] Vector’s Anteres rocket routinely launches from NASA’s Wallops Island Flight Facility in the Eastern Shore of Virginia.  
> [3] Canadarm2, est. 2001, upgraded version of the Canadarm1. Can be manipulated by ISS crew and ground controllers.


	9. Chapter 9

**_International Space Station_ ** ****  
**_Low Earth Orbit, Space_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Monday January 12, 2004_**

 

Warm hands cradled his chilled face and thumbs rubbed soothing circles against his temples, gently nudging him into consciousness. Trowa’s eyes remained closed to the blackness that was calling him. Everything was cold and dark like the void of space that had tried sucking him out to his death. He was dizzy, his body spinning downwards in a never ending freefall. It felt as if there was no oxygen and his lungs fought for breath as he continued to fall. Nausea welled up in the pit of his stomach. Was he dead? Had he made it out of Harmony in time?

_‘Breathe, Trowa. You’re doing fine. Breathe…’_

_Heero? I’m lost… I don’t know where I am._

“Oh man, is he gonna make it? He’s not looking too good,” The familiar voice of the American astronaut hovered nearby followed by the hushed voice of Sally Po. “We’re trying to warm him up. It looks like Trowa is suffering from mild hypothermia…” She tightened the space blanket around his body and returned her soft hands to the sides of his face, gazing down in concern.

_‘You’re going to make it out, breathe okay?’_

Trowa obeyed, lips parting to allow his lungs to fill with air. They sucked it in greedily causing a burning sensation in his chest with each breath he took.

_‘Breathe.’_

_It hurts..._

“He’s going to be okay.” Sally stated firmly, looking at Duo from across Trowa’s floating body. “We aren’t going to lose anyone else…” Despite what had just happened to her husband Commander Noin was at her side, helping to secure the blanket with some clips.

‘ _Almost there. Come on…’_

“Heero?” Trowa called out, his voice barely a whisper as it pushed past his cracked, pale lips. He was cold, his hypothermic body numb. It hurt to move. Paralyzed by the chill, he could do nothing but listen to the world around him. He could hear Heero’s voice permeating the chilly void. It called to him again, like a beacon of light, and he desperately followed it out of the darkness and into full consciousness.

Trowa’s eyes opened and he squinted as harsh artificial light burned into his retinas. “...Heero?”

Sally frowned. Trowa’s face was pale, his lips still dusted with a tinge of pale blue despite the oxygen they were forcing him but he was conscious and was talking. Normally when soldiers or people were injured they called out for loved ones, family, their mothers, not their mission CAPCOM.

“It’s me, Sally. Duo. Noin.” Sally tried to reassure him in a calm, clear tone. “You’ve been in an accident. You’re safe. We’re on the ISS, do you know your name?” It was common for people who had suffered lack of oxygen or decompression sickness to experience short stints of amnesia. “What’s your name?”

Duo floated over Sally’s shoulder and frowned down at Trowa with worry. Suddenly he put his hand to his ear, cradled the right speaker of his headset and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s wakin’ up.”

“Robert Plant…” Trowa answered flatly, contracting his abdomen muscles to try and sit up. He failed. With a grimace he closed his eyes again and frowned. “It’s Trowa. Trowa Barton.” Panic suddenly ran down his spine as flashbacks from the accident played across the back of his eyelids; a pale hand vanishing into the darkness of the capsule. _Milliardo…_

“Smartass,” Duo grumbled, but smiled despite himself. Sally had affixed a pulse oximeter onto Trowa’s index finger to check his saturations. Duo occasionally repeated her words, obviously giving the data back down to flight control.

“His sats are coming up slowly,” Sally said with relief. She looked up at Noin, who was staring at the closed hatch to the breached Harmony node, and then gave Trowa a sympathetic look. “You did everything you could.”  
  
A choked noise sounded from Noin’s throat and she abruptly pushed off of a nearby wall and vanished down the corridor.

“Here, keep this mask on,” Sally instructed as she fixed the clear oxygen mask over Trowa’s mouth. “Can you feel your feet? Move your fingers?”

Trowa tried flexing his fingers and wiggling his toes but they wouldn’t budge. Nothing seemed to move except his ability to faintly nod or shake his head. He felt frozen, like a frigid, stiff icicle. Useless. Without any more effort he shook his head and focused on the empty corridor Noin had escaped down. A sense of dread ran over his body and his stomach dropped.   _I failed her. This is my fault…_

“Trowa?” Sally grabbed his fingers and gently examined them. “Looks like some mild frostbite. Duo, grab some thermal glove liners, let’s warm them. Get me a heated blanket from the medlab, too.”

Duo nodded, said something into his headset and floated off. When he left Sally carefully examined Trowa’s legs, wrote down his vitals and spoke in a hushed voice. “They’re arranging an emergency pick-up, the Russians will be up in 24 hours. They were using a rocket to launch a satellite, but they’re going to send up the Soyuz.” The Soyuz spacecraft was the Russian equivalent of the NASA space shuttle and would have been preparing for its own departure for whatever expedition it had planned. “You’re going to be okay. Hang in there for us, alright?”

Duo reappeared with his arms full of supplies. He released them and let them float in the air beside Trowa and Sally before putting his hand back on the headset, scowling. “What?! Seriously? You can tell that uppity chick that-” he stopped, frowned and angrily hit the wall beside him with a fist, sending his weightless body careening towards the opposite side of the room. He landed hard on his back against the far wall. “We didn’t do a damn thing wrong, Heero, you fuckin’ know that!”

“They’re sending me back?” Trowa asked, his voice hoarse and raw. Great. He had royally fucked up and now his time on the ISS was getting cut short by a month and a half. His frozen body tense at the news and he closed his eyes again, shrouding himself in darkness once more.   

Sally sighed. “It’s for your health. You’ve been through some trauma, Trowa. You and Noin are going to head back early.”

Did he _really_ want to stay after what happened? The reality of the accident hadn’t fully hit him yet, it felt like a dream, no, a nightmare. Milliardo was dead. He had tried to save him but he wasn’t strong enough to pull him out of the suction and didn’t have enough time. He couldn’t save him. All of this could have been avoided had they taken a few extra precautions, protocol be damned. They should have followed Heero’s checklists.

“Heero…” Trowa murmured, the name rolling off his tongue as a throaty moan.

Duo was muttering something to himself. “Yeah… yeah he’s askin’ for ya, you wanna talk to him?” There was a pause, and then Duo ripped his headset off and handed it to Sally. “This is bullshit.”

Sally took the headset and helped Trowa slide it over his head, being careful not to move the oxygen mask from Trowa’s mouth.

 **_“You’re going to be okay,”_ ** Heero said almost immediately. **_“Soyuz is preparing for launch as we speak.”_ **

Heero’s voice instantly soothed Trowa. He paused for a moment, trying to gather his fractured thoughts before responding, “You were right. We should have listened to you.” Now his career was in jeopardy and he couldn’t even fathom how Noin felt, having lost a loved one. He was so worried about her. Milliardo’s death weighed heavily on his mind, preoccupying his thoughts.

 **_“Stop. None of that matters. You saved the crew and the Destiny Lab. From here it looks like more than just the hub coupling failed, it was all centered with the Catalonia Capsule. It was out of your control. You did the right thing,”_ ** Heero said into his ear, his voice dripping with calm. There was slight background noise, clearly the flight control center was abuzz with activity. **_“You’re going to be home soon.”_ **

“I wish I were more excited about that.” Trowa admitted, disappointment apparent in his voice. “Thank you… For keeping me going back there. For staying with me.” _For saving me._ He wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Heero’s calm, clear directions guiding him to safety.

 **_“You’re welcome.”_ ** There was a bit of background noise before Heero added, **_“I’ve got to go. You take care of yourself. I’ll see you on the ground.”_ **  Suddenly the connection was broken, and another voice, that of their flight director, spoke up over the connection. **_“All personnel involved in the incident, please report to meeting room 3 for a briefing.”_ **

Sally had finished putting Trowa’s hands into thin, thermal liners they often used for their spacewalk suits and had draped a battery-powered electric blanket around him. “It’s going to be okay, Trowa. You’ll see.”

Trowa nodded weakly although it was hard for him to see how everything would be okay. He shivered and tried to clear his racing mind, tried pushing back the anxiety that was growing. Everything was still spinning. He was still falling.

 

* * *

 

After being held hostage in the meeting room for nearly three hours the staff who had witnessed the event were released for the day. Nobody said a word as they shuffled down the halls and out to their cars. Heero clutched the strap of his bag tightly and bit back the bile that had begun to creep up into his throat.

It had taken everything in him not to lose control during the incident, and after speaking to Trowa his shock and anxiety had turned to anger. He blamed Dorothy Catalonia for everything. She had killed Milliardo Peacecraft, and she had almost killed Trowa and the others. There was no doubt in Heero’s mind that foul play was afoot. Quatre had been right to worry. All of the blonde’s suspicions had been proven true, and yet even with their worry and extra investigation it had still happened. Someone had been needlessly killed, and for what? Because Miss Dorothy Catalonia wanted her face plastered in the latest edition of Popular Science Magazine before the end of the year? Had that been worth the death of one of their best astronauts?

Heero couldn’t wait to get out of mission control. He couldn’t breathe there, he couldn’t think. He needed to get as far away from the center as he could before he lost control of his emotions. Sitting in the meeting room for the last few hours listening to the public relations team and their superiors essentially trying to convince them that it was an ‘accident’ and that while the matter would be ‘thoroughly investigated’ that they should all remain mute to the public and press in the meantime- lest they lose their jobs.

Dorothy Catalonia had left shortly after Trowa had cleared the Harmony hatch, citing some lame excuse about needing to look over her team’s flight data and consult her advisors. All that remained of Catalonia Industries was a single representative, who sat coolly at the front of the table during their extended briefing scribbling notes with a bored, disinterested air.

It was clear that NASA wasn’t ready or willing to point fingers, and Catalonia Industries wasn’t going to openly claim responsibility yet, if ever.

The truth was that Heero was angry at both entities. He found them equally at fault. Catalonia Industries had dropped the ball with their equipment and he wouldn't be surprised if it came to light that the capsule itself had corners cut in the production phase to save on cost. NASA was just as much to blame. Their engineers had either falsified their reports or had overlooked a blatant problem with the capsule- either by accident or because they had been paid off.

As Heero slipped into his car he found himself staring at the Mazda emblem in the center of his steering wheel. Echoes bounced around in his head. He could hear Trowa’s voice, weakened, barely audible, speaking words he couldn’t understand.

 _What if he had died?_ The thought made Heero’s jaw tighten and his stomach lurch. _What if it had been Trowa instead of Milliardo._ What would he have done? What would he be _doing_ now?

Heero scowled and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, ashamed of himself for finding in relief in Milliardo’s death. Relena’s brother’s death would have been a hard blow for his ex to take. How could he find relief in Relena’s pain? Not only that but Commander Noin was alone, trapped in a low earth orbit without anyone there to comfort _her._ How helpless did she feel right now? Milliardo’s body was presumably still trapped in the capsule, unless it had been sucked through whatever breach was on the opposite side and thrust out into space. Heero wouldn’t know the details until tomorrow. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know.

He started the car and began to drive, his mind streaming wild thoughts, unable to focus on one. Before he knew it he had pulled into the parking garage adjacent to Trowa’s apartment. He parked, frowned and stared down at the steering wheel again.

 _He’s going to be home. I need to make sure it’s ready for him,_ he reasoned.

The truth was he didn’t want to go home. He felt helpless, and the only way to combat that helplessness was to keep busy. To make _something_ better, and picking up and preparing the returning astronaut’s apartment was the only thing he could think of.

 

* * *

 

In the European Space Agency’s Columbus Module Noin was finishing up and signing off on a handful of unfinished projects and experiments. Duo had offered to finish recording the data after she left, but she wanted to make sure everything was neat and orderly before departure. The Soyuz had just docked, the Russian cosmonaut in charge of ferrying them back to Earth was in the cupola with Sally, helping her to brief the two Russian astronauts who had been brought up to be Trowa and Noin’s replacements.

She frowned bitterly down at a mold-filled petri dish velcroed inside an experiment drawer. She didn’t want to leave, but she knew she couldn’t stay. She was afraid of facing the world below. She would have to see Milliardo’s parents. She would have to face his sister, Relena. She would have to speak impartially about the incident, even though the fact that somehow Catalonia and her heartless millionaire investors had cost her her husband. Milliardo was gone. His death had been needless.

She wanted someone to pay. She wanted to scream, to cry out and beg whatever Gods there were in the universe to bring him back. She wanted to lash out, to blame everyone, to suffer loudly like _normal_ people did.

But she couldn’t. She was trapped off-world, alone, plagued with the horror of seeing her husband sucked into the capsule, her last glimpse of him having been his splayed fingers as he released Trowa’s wrist.

Milliardo had saved Trowa. If he had not let go of the flight engineer’s arm Noin had no doubt that Trowa would have continued to cling to him. They would have had to close off Destiny Lab, which would not only have killed Trowa but would have potentially damaged the equipment and gear within the module. The experiments there, billions of dollars of research, would have been destroyed in the vacuum.

She scowled down at the paperwork in front of her, clutching the pen in her fingers so tightly that her knuckles turned blanched. He had died a noble, honorable death but she couldn’t help but resent him for it. For thinking of others, and not of her. For not _trying_ to stay with her. He had abandoned mortality for the sake of the crew. She loved and hated him for it.

“Hey,” a soft, cautious voice pulled Noin out of her thoughts. Trowa floated by the entrance, gripping one of the wall handles to steady himself as he peered into the room. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he cleared his throat.

Noin looked up from glaring holes in the paperwork in front of her and saw Trowa in the doorway. Her heart sank. Trowa had been the last person her husband had touched. The last person he had spoken with, had shared the same air with. For some reason that was a comforting thought. She set the paperwork aside, glanced around as if worried that someone else was watching, then pushed off of a handle on the floor to slowly float towards the other astronaut. As she drew near she grabbed the edge of the doorway to stop herself and sighed. “Hey. You feeling better?”

“I am.” Trowa replied, though his answer didn’t sound confident. “I um,” He looked away and appeared to be struggling for the right words. His expression hardened, his eyes becoming moistened with tears he refused to let free. “Noin…  Lucrezia, I’m sorry. I am _so, so_ sorry…” He finally managed to say weakly.

“No, no no.” Noin frowned and grabbed Trowa by the shoulder, leaning in to look at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t - don’t blame yourself, please…” She felt her own throat tighten and her words became strangled.

Seeing the pain on the other astronaut’s face only stoked her own. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror, seeing her own unexpressed anguish blossoming across his usual placid features. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to _see_ his pain anymore. Frantically she grabbed his other shoulder and tugged him through the doorway, pulling his lithe frame into a tight, forceful hug. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Trowa’s arms wrapped around her, which brought all of her defenses down. The hardness she had been trying to exude melted away as the comforting embrace of her colleague broke through her barriers.

“He was such an amazing, inspiring person… I looked up to him and felt so honored to be on the same mission as him.” Trowa mumbled kindly.

“Thank you,” Noin replied weakly, unsure of what else she could say. She squeezed Trowa tightly against her torso, breathed in a shaken breath and tried to imagine what was left of Milliardo was being transferred from Trowa to herself. The flight engineer had been the last person to touch him, her husband’s last connection to their world. She wanted a piece of that, to cherish it. “You tried to save him. I will be forever grateful to you.”

 

* * *

 

 ** _Johnson Space Center, Mission Control_    
** **_Houston, Texas, United States  
_** **_Wednesday January 14, 2004_ **

 

If there was one thing about Relena Peacecraft that Heero respected, it was her ability to hold all of her pieces together in the face of disaster.  
  
Directly after their post-incident briefing Relena had vanished, no doubt to seek comfort and solace from her new boyfriend. During the time immediately after Milliardo’s death, Relena made no word or gesture that would even signify her pain. Her hurt. However, he had been her brother, and while they weren’t particularly close as far as siblings go, seeing her own brother die on screen in such a tragic accident had to have been jarring. There was no doubt that she would be traumatized, now whether she wore that anguish out for the world to see was another matter.

Despite being on shift for the following day the flight director and managers of the ISS ground control all unanimously decided that all personnel on shift during the incident be suspended for review and to seek counseling as needed. The last thing NASA wanted was for anyone to bring their emotions back on the job, not with the upcoming investigation underway. The suspension, along with paid leave, was designed to make the control room impartial. The backup controllers and agents from outside parties would work together to not only bring back Trowa Barton and Lucrezia Noin with the cooperation of the Russian Space Agency, but also to retrieve whatever was left of Milliardo Peacecraft for burial.

NASA had never experienced such a high-stakes, violent loss of life aboard the ISS before. In previous accidents and disasters such as the Challenger Disaster of 1986 most of the debris and remains had been incinerated. From what Heero had heard through inside sources and hearsay Milliardo’s body, or at least part of it, had been lodged in the breach within the capsule. Apparently the newly arrived Russian cosmonauts and the remaining ISS crew Duo Maxwell and Sally Po were tasked to retrieve it. Heero didn’t envy their work. Body retrieval wasn’t something astronauts were typically expected to do.

The night of the incident Heero had gone to Trowa’s apartment and tried to busy himself with preparing it for his return. There wasn’t much to do, aside from dusting a few surfaces and making sure that the plants, who were all finally in decent health, were recently watered. He had spent a few minutes debating whether or not to leave the book he had Buzz Aldrin sign for Trowa on the coffee table. Finally he decided that Trowa probably didn’t want to think about space when he came home, so he tucked it away in the backseat of his car until a more appropriate time, if ever, came.

The following morning, with no work to attend, he was at a loss for what to do. His own apartment was clean, organized and stocked. He didn’t want to stay home. There was nothing for him there. Television and the internet were out of the question: the incident was being broadcasted everywhere. He finally had decided to go for a jog in Lake Houston Wilderness Park to try and clear his head. About three miles down the trail his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Relena. Normally he avoided her calls and texts, especially after their recent one-night stand, but considering the circumstances he thought it best to answer. He jogged to the side of the trail to make room for a pair of mountain bikers and answered.

“Yeah?” He asked breathlessly.  
  
_“You busy?”_

“No.”

_“Can we talk?”_

Heero paused and wiped his forehead on the back of his arm. “Sure.”

_“Meet me for lunch at Weights + Measures?”_

“Okay. Be there in an hour.”

 _Weights + Measures_ was where Heero had taken Relena on their first date. Set in a remodeled 1950’s warehouse, its combination bar/lounge/restaurant atmosphere made for a casual hangout spot. Even after their break up Heero occasionally stopped in to snag a raspberry linzer bar from their in-house bakery.

After rushing home to shower and change he met her outside within the hour. She looked pale, her eyes rimmed from crying. However, upon seeing him her expression steeled. He had a feeling she had cried enough, and that this meeting wasn’t intended to garner his sympathy.

After sitting and placing their orders Relena dug around in her purse and pulled out a pamphlet. She tossed it across the table at him as if just the sight of it disgusted her. Heero frowned and inspected the cover.

“Can you believe this shit?” Relena snarled before busying herself with sipping her wine.

 **_‘In Memoriam_ ** ****  
**_Milliardo Peacecraft_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_A Celebration Of A Brilliant Life And Legacy’_**

Heero raised an eyebrow at her, confused. It was a pamphlet advertising an event being held at the local convention center in honor of her brother. He couldn’t understand why she was angry about it.

Frustrated that he wasn’t getting her point quick enough, Relena leaned across the table and tapped the fine print at the bottom.

**_‘Sponsored By Catalonia Industries’_ **

“How dare she,” Relena hissed. Heero could feel her wrath emanating from across the table. “How fucking _dare_ she? Noin isn’t even home yet and she’s already trying to make a buck off of my brother.”

Heero frowned and picked up the pamphlet, thumbed through the pages and sighed. It was more than just a ‘celebration’ of Milliardo’s Life. It was supposedly a benefit, with ‘proceeds going to our fallen astronaut’s favorite charities’, of which none were listed nor was the percentage of the proceeds outlined.

“She hasn’t asked you to be involved in this?” Heero asked curiously as he slid the pamphlet back at her. Relena made no move to pick it up.

“Oh, she did. This morning, after it was already scheduled and she had ten thousand of these things printed out. Didn’t you see? I’m one of the keynote speakers for the event. You know, because I want to be involved in this media circus right after my _brother_ was mutilated by one of her cheap, shitty capsules.” Relena’s shoulders were trembling. It wasn’t anguish she was feeling but anger. Heero knew that if they had been anywhere private this would be about the time that Relena would have thrown a glass, or stomped her foot in frustration. However, they were out at a nice lunch, and it was clear that she was attempting to keep herself composed, her ultimate superpower.

“Just tell her you won’t do it,” Heero reasoned calmly. Relena snorted.

“How would that look on me? Me, not attending my brother’s memorial?” Relena shook her head. “I can’t _not_ go.”

“She doesn’t have the right to do this anyway. Call your lawyer,” Heero offered in suggestion. Relena sighed and finished her glass of wine, then held the empty glass aloft in her fingertips to signal the server she was in need of another.

“She _does_ have the right. NASA gave her permission. Apparently you space bozos sign some waiver that allows your image and person to be used for NASA sponsored formal events. They’re co-sponsoring this. I can’t do anything about it.”

“So, what did you want to see me about?” Heero finally asked the big question. Clearly she wasn’t going to ask him to put a stop to something that she herself had conceded to attend.

Relena frowned, paused to wait until her glass was refilled and her salad found its place in front of her and then spoke as soon as the server left earshot. “Go with me? Be my date.”

Heero stopped picking at his pizza and looked up at her with surprise. “What about your boyfriend?”

“He’s… not my boyfriend. It’s not like that with him. I just need support. I’m _going_ to need support, there, and you’re the best friend I’ve got. This isn’t me trying to trick you into something. Just as friends? Will you?” Her red-rimmed blue eyes widened, pleading.

 _Damnit._ Heero could never say no to Relena, and she knew it. “Alright.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**_Bay Area Regional Hospital_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Wednesday January 21, 2004_**

 

A week. Trowa had been locked up in the regional hospital for a week since his return to Earth and he was going stir crazy in his private, isolated room. He had read every book in the unit’s mobile library cart, every magazine at the nurse’s station. At his sister’s insistence the cable had been disconnected from the television to prevent him from seeing any of the continuing news coverage of the capsule tragedy, which had left him with limited entertainment. The hospital didn’t keep many DVDs in stock. Most of which were from the pediatric unit. A guy could only watch ‘ _Homeward Bound’_ so many times before questioning his sanity. How _that_ movie was any better at maintaining his emotional stability over the news coverage was beyond him.

Trowa felt that the quarantine precautions were unnecessary and that his flight managers were simply using it as an excuse to monitor him for any sign of post traumatic stress. He couldn’t help but feel as if they were waiting for him to crack so they could expel him from the program. That had been how the military had operated, so he wouldn’t be surprise if NASA was the same.  
  
His sister Catherine and the flight surgeon team were continuously telling him that it was okay to grieve and that it as normal for him to feel like broken goods. However, he didn’t want to have an audience as he fell apart. He wanted to go home and be alone so he could lick his wounds and work through the situation _his own_ way and not be stuck in a hospital with all eyes studying his every move, waiting for his inevitable breakdown.

It was only two o’clock in the afternoon, but it felt like he had been up and pacing listlessly around for an eternity. He was supposed to be discharged today, at least that had been what his observing physician claimed. He had no faith in the system. They had promised to release him three days ago, and he was still there. He wasn’t going to hold his breath.

Catherine, on the other hand, had been excited about his pending release and had left early to grab some groceries and essentials for the apartment. He was grateful to see her go, he didn’t want her fussing over him anymore. He knew that it was easy for her to fall into her usual pattern of mothering and protection of him; she had essentially been the only parental figure he had for the majority of his life, and he didn’t want her to feel like she needed to step up to that plate anymore. He wanted her to be his sister, not his nursemaid.

His head ached and his muscles were still sharply sore as they continued to adjust to Earth’s gravitational pull. After nearly six months of weightlessness his body was still becoming accustomed to the cumbersome task of holding itself up. Three days after landing with the Russians he had been incredibly dizzy. If he turned his head too fast he lost his balance, and he had been extremely motion sick on the plane from Kazakhstan to Houston.

The first thing that Trowa noticed when he had exited the Russian Soyuz spacecraft were the smells of the planet. The distinctive aroma of _green_ that wafted through the air from the local flora and fauna. He had paused to enjoy the incoming petrichor of the distant rainfall that crept along the Kazakh Steppe as he boarded the plane for Houston. His nose was greeted by the smell of women’s perfume at the baggage claim and the contrasting, unpleasant aroma of the exhaust from the taxi that had taken him to the hospital.

The hospital had its own unique scents: the antiseptic the wound nurse used as she pushed her care cart down the hallway, the powdery smell of the gloves the nurses donned when they came in to gather their blood samples from him. His nose continues to remain sensitive, much more than it had been before he left for his expedition to ISS, so it was no surprise that he detected the scent of flowers before they even came into the room.

There was a knock at the door.

“Yeah, come in,” Trowa replied plainly. He took a seat on the foot of his hospital bed just in case it was Cathy returning to chastise him for moving around too much and overexerting himself. A short, blonde figure in a neatly pressed beige suit stepped inside, smiling brightly, arms filled with gifts.

“Trowa Barton!” Quatre, his mission’s operation planner, came inside and grinned from ear to ear in greeting. “It’s great to see you up and about. Is this a bad time? I know visiting hours are limited for you…”

“Quatre Winner.” Trowa mocked the other’s use of his full name, finding it odd. He shook his head and sighed. “No it’s not a bad time. Please, come in. I could use the company,” someone other than his beloved sister or the familiar faces of the nurses. He removed the hood of his sweatshirt from his head, fingers fidgeting with the tie strings that dangled down onto his chest. It was cold in his room. He had been consistently cold ever since the disaster on the ISS, unable to stave off a bitter inner chill.

Quatre smiled and nodded, glanced up at the television and raised an eyebrow at the images flickering across the screen. “Isn’t this that movie with the pets who get lost in the wilderness,” he asked conversationally, crossed the room and began to carefully set down the gifts he had been tasked to deliver on the bedside table. “I always liked that golden retriever best,” he added.

Trowa reached for the remote and flipped the tv off. He’d had enough of ‘ _Homeward Bound’_ for the day. The fragrant scent of flowers drew his attention and he looked over his shoulder to find the source. A bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers graced his bedside table along with a basket of fruit. “I knew you missed me, but I didn’t realize you missed me THAT much.”

Quatre’s face flushed and for a moment he looked somewhat embarrassed. He cleared his throat and gestured to the items on the table. “While you _are_ my favorite astronaut, sadly I can’t claim all of these are from me.” He grabbed the fruit basket and held it up with a smile. “This one _is_ from me.” He grabbed an envelope from inside it. “This is from flight control, and these…” he gestured to a book and the bouquet of flowers, “are from Heero. He asked if he could come but your case manager said you could only have one visitor at a time. When I found out that your sister had left I hurried over to see you.”

“Heero?” Suddenly the flowers were more than just _flowers_. Trowa got up off the bed and went over to inspect them, leaning down to smell their petals. He closed his eyes and imagined Heero’s face, his dark blue gaze. The other’s voice floated into his mind. He’d grown accustomed to hearing it every day, and now that he was without it he had to rely on memory.

“They are… lovely,” He breathed and then noticed the book laying flat on the table. Trowa ran his fingers over the cover and a rare smile lit up his face. It was Buzz Aldrin’s new book.

“Glad you like them, I’ll have to let everyone know how you’re doing. So… how _are_ you holding up in here? I heard they’re supposed to be letting you out sometime today? Any plans? You’re going to the memorial event this weekend, right?” Quatre asked as he grabbed a nearby chair from the bedside and sat down in it, straightening his pale pink tie with one hand as he did.

“I don’t want to go,” Trowa picked the book up and sat back down on the bed. “But I have to.” It was going to be an extremely uncomfortable event. He wasn’t ready to face reality yet, but he sure as hell needed to get out of the hospital. He combed his fingers through his messy hair and looked back over at Quatre, the dark circles under his eyes apparent. “Do you know how Noin is holding up?” He hadn’t seen her since landing on earth.

“It’s sad. I don’t think anyone _wants_ to go, what with all of that controversy around the event,” Quatre said softly, his finger kneading the ends of his jacket sleeves. “Noin’s doing alright. I guess her parents and Milliardo’s and Relena’s parents are in town. Nobody has seen much of her really, but I know she’s surrounded by family and she’s not alone.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Trowa wrapped his arms around the book, holding it up against his chest for comfort. “And how is everyone else? Everyone back at mission control?”

“As good as they can be. Our entire shift has been put on paid leave for the remainder of the month while they continue investigations, which honestly leaves us all out of the loop. We have no idea what’s happening at NASA, they’ve shut the doors on us.” Quatre frowned and slid his fingers through his hair, pushing his long blonde bangs from his eyes as he studied Trowa for a moment, obviously deep in thought. “There are a lot of _things_ happening. Events that are beyond our control. I don’t want to burden you with the details, I would just suggest staying away from NASA for a while. Things are getting a little … dark around there.”

“We’re all trying to make the best of our free time,” Quatre added, trying to brighten the conversation some. “So, you like the book? Have you ever met Buzz Aldrin? He came to NASA while you were gone for a book signing.”

“I haven’t met him in person, no. Maybe someday. And yes, I like the book. It was very thoughtful of Heero to get me a copy. Please tell him thank you for me.” Trowa held the book out and flipped the cover back, exposing the front page where Buzz Aldrin himself had signed his name in black sharpie, along with a scribbled message.

 **_‘Your heartbeats count.’_ **  

Buzz Aldrin was reported to have once said, _“I believe that every human has a finite number of heartbeats,_ ” in reference to not living his life wasting his own.

Quatre smirked. “Maybe you can thank him yourself? He’s supposed to be at the memorial event this weekend, too.” He watched Trowa curiously, gauging his reactions to his words. “Sunflowers are an odd choice,” he noted, pointing to the cheerful blossoms on the table. “Are they a favorite of yours?”

“They are. They remind me of home…” Trowa answered, frowning. How had Heero known that? It was probably just a coincidence. “I guess you’re right. I can thank him this weekend.” It would be his first time meeting Heero face to face.

Suddenly Trowa’s stomach was in knots.

 

* * *

 

 **_River Oaks Shopping District_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Friday January 23, 2004_**

 

“I didn’t think I would find anything in this city, but this area isn’t so bad,” Catherine said brightly in French, their native tongue, as she hugged her brother’s arm tightly while keeping an easy pace alongside him as they strolled through the Houston’s high-end shopping district. She hefted her garment bag up over her shoulder and smiled at him. “And for the hundredth time, no. You _can’t_ carry it for me. You need to take it easier, remember? I’m fine. I’m a big girl, I don’t need your help,” she teased, nudging their shoulders together playfully.   
  
They had spent the better part of the afternoon looking for appropriate dressy attire for that weekend’s memorial event in honor of Milliardo Peacecraft. Catherine hadn’t anticipated attending such a formal, somber event so she had brought nothing to wear and Trowa had lost so much weight up on the ISS that his suits no longer fit him. Shopping had been an excellent excuse to get out of the house.

“After we get you fitted for a new suit we should grab some lunch,” she continued in French. While she was well schooled in English she seemed to be able to express herself easier their native language. She also seemed to enjoy curious looks she got from other shoppers when they spoke French. “Get some meat back on these bones. We’ve got to have you looking fit as a fiddle for your _lady friend_ , Miss Po, when she returns from space.”

Trowa pushed his thick-framed sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Cathy, for the last time, I told you there isn’t anything going on between myself and Sally.” While he liked Sally enough and thought she was intelligent AND gorgeous, the New Years kiss had been for fun. Nothing serious and nothing more. He wasn’t setting out to impress her. He was more worried about _impressing_ someone else...

The memorial event was tomorrow and Trowa’s nerves were on end for multiple reasons. Heero would be there. They hadn’t spoken since the day of the capsule disaster. It would also be his first time seeing his other NASA coworkers since his return. And Noin would be there as well.

It was finally time Trowa faced the reality of what had happened.

Milliardo’s death was still fresh on his mind. Every night he woke up in a cold sweat, forced into consciousness by a terrifying, reoccurring nightmare. It seemed the veteran astronaut would forever be reenacting his death in the dark depths of Trowa’s subconscious mind.

“I just think you need to stop pushing people away,” Cathy chastised him with a sigh. She pulled him to a stop so she could admire a window display, eyeing one of the dresses in the window. “How many dresses are you willing to buy me, again?” She smiled playfully.   
  
“I think you and Miss Po would be a cute couple. I’m not the only one, I hear it’s quite the thing online,” Cathy added. Ever since Trowa and Sally’s New Years kiss footage leaked the internet had exploded with speculation about a budding romance between the two astronauts. “Or, maybe you’re more into that guy with the hair? What’s his name again?”

“Duo? He’s just a friend.” Trowa shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the dress while his thoughts wandered. It had been a while since he had last dated. He did like Sally, but in a romantic way? He wasn’t so sure. He had started to form unexpected, complicated feelings for someone else. Only that _someone_ happened to be taken already.

Trowa shook his head and looked back at his sister. “I will buy you ONE dress. So choose wisely.”

Catherine laughed and nodded. “I shall choose the one I just can’t live without,” she teased and then pointed to the sparkly, gold mini dress in the window. “I _can_ live without that one.” She tugged at his arm to get him to move down to a jewelry shop where the window was filled with diamond encrusted engagement rings. “I just don’t want you to be alone. It scares me that you live here without someone to look after you.”

“You raised me well. I’m doing just fine on my own.” Trowa frowned at the rings, wondering why they had stopped in front of them.

His last relationship had lasted four years and at the time Trowa thought he’d found ‘the one’. But when his career started to take off and he devoted all of his time to training and work, things had fallen apart. It was his fault, really. She wanted to settle down and start a family. He wanted to continue pursuing his dreams of going to space. Neither was able to come to a compromise, so he ended the relationship.

That had been nearly two years ago and now Trowa was starting to get lonely. He wanted someone to come home to, to share his life with. His career was still the most important thing he had, but he was willing to shift it around for the right person. He just needed to find someone who was flexible and understanding about his crazy schedule.  
  
“Maybe now that you’re back you should look into getting a pet or something?” She reluctantly pulled away from the rings and tugged him towards a men’s clothing boutique across the street. “A dog, or a cat, or a parrot. Something. Have you made any friends here? Join a club, get out?” She stopped in front of the shop and looked up at him with a curious expression.

“What about the person who was watching your apartment? Maybe have them over for dinner or something? I can cook…” She gave him a hopeful smile. “You _can_ be sociable, you know. It won’t kill you.”

_Heero._

“My coworker was checking on my apartment. I haven’t actually met him in person yet… tomorrow night will be my first time speaking with him face to face. His name is Heero Yuy. He was our mission’s CAPCOM.” Trowa filled his sister in. Maybe he could invite Heero over for dinner, as a way of saying thank you for watching his place. Or would that be too awkward?

“You let someone you’ve never met into your apartment?” Catherine smirked and raised a well manicured eyebrow at him. “You must trust this guy. Invite him over, I can make whatever you want.”

They slipped inside the shop and almost immediately Trowa was bombarded by three attendants who hurried him over to a wall of options. After suggesting a few styles of suit they ushered him to the rear of the shop so he could change. Catherine set her things on a plush, overstuffed white couch and waited patiently outside the changing room curtain for her brother.  
  
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” She asked in French. “You don’t have to go, you know.”

“I have to go.” There was no way Trowa could get out of it. He would come off as being disrespectful if he didn’t attend his fallen comrades memorial, and he wanted to be there for his team. He _needed_ to be there.

Trowa slipped on a tailored, dark green suit and pushed the curtain aside to show Catherine. It was the third suit he had tried on and he was getting weary of shopping.  

Catherine gasped theatrically and then gave an enthusiastic nod of approval. “That one. Your eyes are practically glowing in that color.” She gestured for the attendant to fit him for the suit. As the tailors went to work measuring Trowa in front of a mirror she smirked at his back, noticing how uncomfortable he was at being fussed over. “Well I’ll be with you. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. You can just let me do all of the talking.”

“You’re good at that.” Trowa remarked from over his shoulder, rubbing his temples tiredly.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Stafford Centre_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Saturday January 22, 2004_**

 

“Why are we doing this? Tell me why I’m doing this again?” Relena asked as she wrung a handful of her long, black lace dress in her hands. The line of cars in front of them was hardly moving, and from the looks of it the place was already pretty crowded with well-wishers and media spectators reporting the occasion. Heero and Relena had attended formal NASA events in the past as well as a wedding or two, but they had never been guests to anything so ostentatious before. There were spotlights shooting massive beams of light from the roof. It didn’t get more flashy than that.

“Because he was your brother, and you agreed to speak in his honor,” replied Heero dully as he stared out the tinted window of their taxi, looking bored. His plan was to go in, show his face to the cameras, listen to Relena’s speech then quickly vacate before things devolved too much. He didn’t do well with funerals, or memorials, or whatever this was supposed to be. He knew he had a hard time appearing supportive. God forbid Relena cried in front of people, he wouldn’t know how to play the part of emotionally supportive date.

“Right. The speech,” Relena murmured as she  fished out a small mirror from her clutch and began to touch up her already impeccable makeup. “Thanks for coming with me. I know you don’t want to be here.”

Heero frowned and ran his hand through his hair as he watched the people from a few cars ahead of them evacuate their ride and hand over the keys to the valet. The truth was that he wasn’t looking forward to being there, but he did _want_ to be. His reasons were selfish. He had heard that Trowa had been released from the hospital and that he had RSVPed for himself and a date to attend. While he wanted be supportive to Relena and show his support for Noin and the memory of Milliardo, part of him was desperate to see the former mission flight engineer. Quatre had mentioned that when he went to visit Trowa before he was discharged that he seemed okay, but Heero needed to see for himself. He had toyed with the idea of stopping in on him at his apartment but then thought against it. What if Trowa’s son was there? It stood to reason that he would be, along with his mother, whatever her relationship with Trowa was.

No, Heero didn’t want to intrude. He also didn’t want to come off as a creep, so stopping in at Trowa’s apartment had been out of the question. Unfortunately their primary way of communicating when Trowa was on the ISS was through NASA sponsored lines. Now that Trowa was earthbound Heero no longer had a way to talk to him. He didn’t have Trowa’s home phone number.

Since he was barred from NASA and unable to speak to Trowa directly, he had no idea how he was doing. The memorial event was the only way he could see him without it being weird. Heero’s hand automatically ghosted over his pocket, feeling for the outline of Trowa’s apartment key for the tenth time since they left Relena’s apartment. If anything he had to return the key to its owner.

Finally it was their turn in the valet line. Relena finished straightening her hair, tucked an errant strand of her updo behind her ear and nodded that she was ready to face her challenge. Heero sighed, climbed out and offered her his arm as they exited the car, escorting her through a throng of media representatives and photographers.

Inside the lobby Heero spotted many of the flight controllers from Johnson Space Center, including his own flight director along with the other CAPCOM Bernadette, Wufei, and Quatre all standing around one of the open bars against the far wall. He wanted to go greet them, but Relena gently tugged him the opposite direction. Her parents were standing with Dorothy Catalonia and a man he had never seen before. Heero frowned. Of course Dorothy Catalonia would be there, she had organized the event with NASA’s consent, but seeing her pandering to the Peacecrafts made his skin crawl. He wondered how much they actually knew about the incident.

Heero had met the Peacecraft family a handful of times before, the last of which was when they had come from Denmark for a surprise birthday party Relena’s old college friends had thrown for her a year and a half ago. As they approached Rikke, Relena’s mother, smiled at him. He didn’t know how much she knew about his failed relationship with her daughter, which made her smile a little unsettling.

“Heero,” she said kindly as she grabbed his hand. She didn’t shake it, but instead squeezed it tightly, her eyes narrowing sharply as she did. He politely nodded to her.

“Rikke, Torvald.” He peeled his hand from Rikke’s to shake her father’s hand firmly. “I’m sure you’ve heard this a hundred times by now, but I’m sorry for your loss.”

Torvald was a tall man with a neatly trimmed, golden blonde beard and tidy, medium length hair. He had a past of working for the Danish government though had never divulged exactly what that entailed. Relena had no idea either, but suspected it had been something similar to the American version of the CIA. She had grown up learning not to ask.

Rikke, a lean and petite brunette, a was a former elementary school teacher who spent most of her time volunteering and organizing events to fundraise for humanitarian organizations abroad. Heero wondered what _she_ thought of this corporate-sponsored memorial for her son.

Relena finally pulled away from him and buried herself into the comfort of her mother’s embrace. They began speaking to each other in Danish, which left Heero completely isolated. He didn’t know a lick of Danish. Dorothy, seeing him suddenly available, broke away from the grieving family to accost him.

“Mister Yuy, you’re looking sharp tonight. I like the suit,” Dorothy said with a predatory, cat like grin. She reached out to boldly pick a piece of lint from his shoulder. “If you weren’t here with a date I would insist that you get me a drink and be my arm candy for the night.”

Heero narrowed his eyes at her. “Using memorials to pick up men?”  
  
Dorothy simply laughed. “Using memorials? Not for men,” she said with a smirk. “You’re in a sour mood tonight. Why such animosity?”

“I’m in no mood,” Heero replied quietly, his eyes drifting away from her to study the crowd. “This is quite the event you’ve put on here.”

“Only the very best for Noin and Milliardo. Poor, poor Noin. She just looks terrible,” Dorothy lamented as she plucked two flutes of champagne from a passing server’s tray. “I guess I’ll offer YOU a drink, since you’ve made no move to get ME one.”

Heero took the champagne and stared down at the bubbles as they cheerfully rose up the side of the glass. “You would look terrible too if your husband needlessly died because someone was trying to make a quick buck.”

Dorothy smiled against the rim of her champagne glass, her oddly manicured eyebrows raising at him. “No-no, Heero Yuy. Tell me what you _really_ think of me,” she muttered sarcastically. “It was a _tragic_ accident, what happened up there. Horrible. Why would you ever think that it had been intentional? Do you really think I wanted my capsule to fail? How would that look on me and my company? You should learn something about us business moguls- we don’t like to fail. It’s against our nature.”

Heero rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his champagne. He could feel Torvald’s gaze on him and saw Relena cast a glance in his direction as she spoke to her parents. It was clear that she was talking about him.

“I know exactly what your kind are like,” he replied coldly. “You walk all over others for your own benefit, and you’re willing to sacrifice anything to get to the top. People like you climb the rungs of the ladder of success two at a time, stomping on other people’s fingers along the way.”

Dorothy chuckled, seemingly unmoved by his words. “Cute little imagery. Is that a reference to some old Japanese folklore or something?”

“No. It’s an observation.” Heero finished the glass and handed it to another server as he passed.  
  
“You don’t like me very much, do you Mister Yuy?” Dorothy asked, her expression amused.

Heero slid his hands into his pockets, his fingers immediately brushing against Trowa’s key. He grabbed it and squeezed it tightly in hand. “I don’t care for people who hurt those I love.”

“You loved Milliardo? How sweet,” Dorothy teased. “Or, is it Noin? Maybe it’s Relena’s sadness that has you all upset and making that dour little face? Oh… I know, you love _someone else…_ ” She leaned in close, her red painted lips curling into a sneer. “Make sure you tell him _‘bonjour’_ for me when he finally shows up,” she whispered, winked and then turned to leave, giving him a little parting wave of her slender hand. “It’s been lovely talking to you, Mister Yuy, but I’ve got a memorial to manage.”

 

* * *

 

“Just stop the car! Yes, right here!” Catherine yelled up at the taxi driver as she watched her brother sway unsteadily beside her in the back seat of the cab. She had her phone out and was dialing 911. “Trowa? Trowa can you hear me?”

The taxi pulled off of the busy city street and down a side road to park. The driver was watching in the rearview mirror with a worried expression. “Is he going to be okay? Do we need to get him to a hospital?”  
  
Catherine shook her head. “I… I don’t know…” Without activating her call she dropped her phone in her lap and grabbed Trowa’s shoulders to steady him. His face was pale, his forehead damp and eyes were distant as if he were blinded, unable to see her. He had been unusually quiet all afternoon and hadn’t said much for the first half of their taxi ride when suddenly went completely still and began to sway. She leaned in closer and squeezed his shoulders roughly, panic rising her in her voice. “Trowa? Trowa, if you can hear me, say something!”

“No hospital,” Trowa murmured and hunched forward to cradle his head in his hands. His body started to shake and his heart pounded against his chest as its beats accelerated. An overwhelming sense of sheer terror swept through his system. “I…. what’s happening…” He choked out and then squeezed his eyes shut as his mind raced.

He felt like he was losing control, like he was in danger even though he logically knew he wasn’t. He was anxious, so anxious. Fragmented images of the ISS accident replayed in his mind and he saw Milliardo’s glove clad hand reach out to grip his own. He felt the intense coldness of space wrap around him, chilling him to the bone right there in the backseat of the taxi and then he heard Heero’s voice calling out from the darkness, telling him to breathe, only he couldn’t breathe. It was as if his lungs were failing him.

Was this what a panic attack felt like?

Catherine felt helpless as she watched her brother struggle with an unseen darkness. She didn’t know what to do. He looked terrible, and her first thoughts were that he was having some sort of recurrence of the space sickness he had when he had first arrived home. She brushed his bangs from his face and gently caressed his cold, clammy forehead. “We should go home. You need to lie down and rest. This is too much stress for you right now.”

_Home?_ As good as that sounded and as much as he wanted to demand that the driver turn this car around, Trowa knew he couldn’t. That would be selfish.

“Catherine, I can’t go home… I have to be there. I have to go.” He shook his head and placed his hands on his knees, gripping them while he steadied himself and tried to focus on his breathing. He needed to breathe and calm down, needed to fight this sudden onslaught of irrational fear.

_Nothing bad is going to happen at the memorial. I need to go in and show my face, talk to Noin… then I can go home. Everything will be fine. Just breathe… in and out…_

Talking to himself was working and slowly Trowa felt his galloping heart rate begin to slow. He took a deep breath, held it and then let it out before looking over at his sister with an apologetic half-smile. “I’m okay… sorry to scare you.” He had no idea what had come over him, but he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Now wasn’t the time.

“Are you sure?” Catherine sighed, knowing that fighting her brother’s decisions never went well. When Trowa was determined to do something he was hard to sway otherwise. She grabbed one of the complimentary bottles of water the driver had given them, opened it and pushed it into his hands. “If you’re sure you’re okay, but we should make it quick. We’ll stay an hour, but then you need to go lie down.” She frowned at him, her expression stern.

“Yea, sure. An hour,” Trowa brought the bottle to his mouth and downed half of it in one go. He just needed to make it through the night and then he could go home, toss back some sleeping pills, curl up in his bed and pass out into sweet oblivion.

He prayed that the nightmares wouldn’t come.

 

* * *

 

“My fondest memory of my dear brother is of a time when he were quite young, back home in Denmark playing hide-and-seek,” Relena said, her voice tight as she spoke into the microphone. The audience was watching her silent and transfixed as she recounted their relationship and Milliardo as a child. She had already discussed with Heero what she planned on saying and had practiced her speech in front of him a few times before they had left for the event.

The story she had decided to tell was of her brother hiding in a tree where she couldn’t find him. She had lost interest after half an hour of searching and had gone to play somewhere else, leaving him alone in the tree. He found that he couldn’t climb down, the branch he had used to heft himself had snapped. Stranded in the tree for hours, he had been too proud to call out for help. They finally found him four hours later. After that he had been afraid of heights, but that hadn’t stop him from pursuing a career that took him to the highest of heights: outer space.

Heero was having trouble focusing on her story. He could feel eyes boring into him and didn’t have to look to know that Relena’s parents were probably studying him, searching for some sort of genuine or sincere reaction to their daughter’s emotional storytelling. He decided to look the opposite direction to avoid their gaze, his eyes quickly scanning over the crowd to study the familiar faces of the audience.

Wufei was watching Relena speak with an air of disinterest, but that wasn’t altogether unusual for the typically aloof, distant Chinese physician. Quatre clung to his event program and savored her every word with the most sympathetic face in the room. Bernadette was watching with a good-natured smile. She turned and saw Heero looking at her and gave him a playful wink. Trowa’s seat was still empty. Despite having confirmed that he would be attending he had yet to show up.

Suddenly everyone in the audience began to clap. Heero blinked and looked up just in time to see Dorothy hugging Relena and thanking her for her lovely story. He frowned as Relena resumed her seat beside him and reached over to hold his hand. He knew she needed support, but he felt the eyes of others appraising him as she pressed her fingers against his and squeezed. He felt fake. Insincere.

_We’re just friends,_ Heero repeated over and over in his mind, his eyes wandering from Dorothy at the podium to Relena’s parents who were seated nearby. Her mother was frowning at him, and her father was staring straight ahead as if he had been turned to stone by the Medusa at the podium. It was clear to Heero that Torvald was doing everything in his power to ignore him.

Heero remained stiff in his chair for the remainder of the speakers. People who had trained with Milliardo got up to say a few words. His mother stood to thank everyone for coming. Noin made no speech, but nobody had expected her to. Heero occasionally glanced over to study her face as the event wore on. She remained stoic, her eyes fixed on whoever was in front of her, face pale and eyes watering, holding back her tears admirably.

Movement at the back of the room caught Heero’s eye. As Dorothy resumed her spot at the podium and began to thank her laundry list of donors, sponsors and speakers a figure was escorted into the room and down the aisle to Heero’s left by one of the event staff. Suddenly Trowa’s seat was filled with the astronaut himself, his date quickly having taken her seat beside him.

Heero tried his best to watch them out of the corner of his eye without turning to gawk at the two as they came in. It was clear that others weren’t as subtle. Quatre, who occupied Trowa’s right side, leaned over to greet him with a happy smile while others craned their heads from various vantage points as they attempted to get a good look at him.

Heero had avoided most of the media coverage of the disaster as best he could, but a few hours before the memorial he had seen a picture on the front page of a local Houston newspaper in a shop window. The image was an edited version of a photo taken of the ISS crew before they had loaded up onto the Space Shuttle Atlantis. Trowa had been standing beside Milliardo in the full version of the image. The newspaper had cropped the image so that only Trowa and Milliardo were features and had enlarged it to fill the front page. Heero hadn’t bought a copy or even stopped to read the headline. He didn’t _want_ to know what kind of tales the media was weaving.

The front page image was enough to tell Heero one thing: Trowa was somehow the main focus of the story. What the media actually _knew_ was something else.

“Ah, and finally, I’d like to thank Mister Trowa Barton of the European Space Agency.  I want to thank him for his heroic efforts on the ISS. His bravery in the face of danger was truly admirable.” Dorothy said suddenly, looking down and directly at Trowa from her spot behind the raised podium. She gestured a hand at him and grinned. “Let’s hear it for our handsome hero!”

The audience, who up until then had discreetly been trying to see Trowa all gradually began to stand as their applause erupted like wildfire across the room. Heero finally turned in his seat and saw Trowa’s reaction. He had spent 5 months watching Trowa Barton over the COM-link and camera system. He was familiar with his moods, what he looked like when he was tired, frustrated or content. It was clear to Heero that the astronaut was extremely uncomfortable receiving his standing ovation. His body appeared rigid beneath his well-fitted, dark heather green suit and his eyes were unusually wide with surprise.

Heero recognized the woman beside him as the one from the photographs in Trowa’s apartment. She seemed to be as stunned as her date.

Trowa didn’t stand up to receive his praise, and it occurred to Heero that the action wasn’t out of lack of politeness. He didn’t look like he _could_ stand up. He noted a slight quiver in his legs and a distinct flush of his face. Finally the applause died down and everyone resumed their seats.

“Please join us for refreshments, coffee and some lovely sweet treats out in the lobby,” Dorothy said before dismissing the crowd.  
  
“Heero, please, you’re hurting me…”   
  
With a blink Heero looked down and realized that he had been crushing Relena’s hand in his own. He forced his fingers loose and gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Relena frowned. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m going to go talk to my parents for a bit, do you want to come or…?”

Heero shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. Go be with them.” He stood up and straightened the front of his tailored navy blue suit. “I’m going to go get a drink.”  
  
Relena nodded and without another word left to go comfort her parents. Heero turned away from them and reached into his pocket to grab Trowa’s apartment key, eyes scanning the room for the key’s owner.

He found nothing but Trowa’s empty chair.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Catherine whispered into Trowa’s ear. A young, handsome blonde man who apparently worked for NASA had offered her a glass of wine, which she had gratefully taken. He had vanished into the crowd to find some for her, leaving her and her brother alone in the corner of the lobby, taking refuge beside a massive potted plant and away from the crushing chaos of the crowd. “I think you’ve done enough…”

“I need to see Noin. I should speak with her before we leave,” Trowa said, shaking his head slowly. He was feeling dizzy and out of it, like he wasn’t actually there, almost as if he was having an out of body experience. The callout from Dorothy had taken him by complete surprise. Why was everyone saying that he was hero? He had done what anyone else would have in that situation: tried to save his comrade. However he had been unsuccessful. He wasn’t a hero.

“I should stay a little longer.”

Catherine frowned. “Let’s see if we can find her, okay? Then we go…” she insisted. Sliding her arm through Trowa’s, she led him away from their hiding place and towards the mass of people coiling in the center of the room, her own pale gray eyes seeking out Noin in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

“There he is!” Dorothy Catalonia’s voice broke through the crowd like sharp sword. The sea of bodies parted for her as she marched towards them, flanked with an entourage of media and cameramen. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. First you show up late, and now you’re hiding in the foliage? What an eccentric you are.”  
  
Catherine frowned and clutched protectively to Trowa’s arm.

The last person Trowa wanted to talk to right now was Dorothy Catalonia. NASA was still investigating the accident but as far as he was concerned Catalonia Industries had been the problem. He bit back his anger and gave her an expressionless look. “Dorothy. We were just looking for someone, if you’ll excuse us?”

“Of course! This will only take a moment,” Dorothy replied quickly, obviously ignoring Trowa’s attempt to flee. She muscled her way between Trowa and his sister.

“Sweetie, could you move back? You’re crowding the frame…” Catherine made a shooing gesture to Catherine, who frowned and obediently took a step back, her hands balled into fists. If the woman wasn’t so rich she’d deck her.

“Isn’t he just lovely? I don’t even know if I want a picture beside you, you’ll make me look bad in comparison,” teased Dorothy as she forced her arm through Trowa’s and smiled brightly at the camera. On cue their faces illuminated as a series of blinding flashes bombarded them.  
  
“I’m so that glad you made it,” Dorothy remarked quickly as she turned her body to strike a sideways pose, holding him hostage by his arm, obviously using him as a prop. “You’re the new face of NASA now, it’s wonderful that you’ve come to represent your organization. Such a hero, isn’t he?” She was addressing a man with a notepad beside her. “He’s so modest, but when the video is finally released, you’ll all see just how brave he was.”

It was hard for Trowa to remain composed as the cameras continued to click around them. _New face of NASA? Released footage?_ What the hell was Dorothy talking about? His patience was wearing thin, but he did his best to keep a calm expression, although refusing to smile. “That footage is privately owned by NASA. It’s not getting released.”

“Au contraire, my lovely,” Dorothy teased with a smile. “They’re already releasing some of the audio footage to the news. It is only a matter of time before the people will demand to see you in action.” She squeezed his arm playfully. “I saw it first-hand,” she announced to the sudden throng of onlookers gathering around them. “He risked his own life and didn’t once think of himself! He didn’t even put his _own_ oxygen mask on, he was so focused on helping poor Milliardo…”

“Is that true?” One of the media men asked from the thickening crowd.  
  
“Reports are that you blacked out, was that before or _after_ Peacecraft was sucked into the vacuum?” A voice called out from the crowd.

“How do you feel about surviving such an incident?”  
  
“Are you going back to France?”   
  
“Is it true you’re quitting the space program?”

The chaos around them rose as reporters began raining their questions down upon him, clawing at one another in an attempt to get their inquiries answered. Suddenly a figure pushed through them, his small frame physically blocking Trowa from the reflective lenses of the camera.

“Sorry, but no official NASA business will be discussed at this time.” It was Heero. He turned around, his expression icy, pried Dorothy’s hand from Trowa’s arm and slid his own into the other astronaut’s chilled fingers. “Enough,” he hissed at Dorothy before firmly tugging Trowa away from her, dragging the other young man through the crowd and towards the exit.

“It looks like _somebody’_ s jealous!” Dorothy called after them, her laughter rising over the hubbub of the crowd.

 

* * *

 

Heero’s mind raced a mile a minute as he led the taller astronaut outside and into the crisp, chilled winter air. The most pressing thought in his mind was that he needed to put as much space between Trowa and Dorothy Catalonia as possible. Aside from hijacking a car and running away with him, the only other thing he could think to do was to bring the other astronaut outside onto the sidewalk, well enough away from bloodthirsty reporters.

Once they were a few feet away from the exit door he stopped and turned around to finally address his captive but when his eyes met the others he froze. He became painfully aware that there was no distortion to the face in front of him. It was smooth, bright and real, and not pixelated as he had come to know it through the communications link.

It was possibly the loveliest thing he had ever seen and he struggled for a moment to catch the breath that Trowa’s face had stolen from him. His entire body went numb as if his brain had been severed from his nerves.

_What have I just done?_

Heero had no idea what to say. He knew that he had acted rashly. The gathering crowd had alerted him to some activity in the lobby and when he had come upon Trowa being accosted by Dorothy Catalonia and her wolves he had automatically reacted. He couldn’t simply stand by and watch Trowa be attacked and bombarded with questions and had acted the only way he knew how, but now that he had Trowa outside and away from those vultures he had no idea what to do with him.

“I…” Heero’s mind was blank, desperately searching for the right words. “Are, uh… you okay?”

“Yes,” was Trowa’s stunned reply.

 

* * *

 

A warm hand was holding his own, fingers entwined protectively. The handsome face in front of him was immediately recognizable and caused Trowa’s heart to skip a few beats as he made contact with the deep blue eyes that stared up at him.

He had been saved.

Heero Yuy had swooped in to rescue him from Dorothy and the reporters, epically whisking him to safety like Mario saving Princess Peach from Bowser and his goons. Heero had saved him, yet again.

Trowa was at a loss for words. He looked down at their hands, noticing how they fit perfectly together, and marveled at the warmth radiating off of Heero’s. He’d been waiting 5 months to meet Heero in person, to talk face to face with the man he’d been working so closely with all this time, someone he’d become friends with. Why did it finally have to happen on a night when he was a _complete_ mess?

“Heero,” Trowa looked back up and offered a weak smile. “You’re really one for making grand entrances, aren’t you?”

Heero’s embarrassment grew exponentially and he could feel the evidence of it begin to gather up in his neck and cheeks. Finally his senses came to him and his body gradually regained feeling. He became very aware of Trowa’s hand tangled within his own as Trowa’s chilled fingertips softly grazed the top of his hand. Heero knew that he should release the hand he’d taken hostage but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. He felt like a treasure hunter who had finally found his Arc of the Covenant. Dreams had plagued him, his mind having supplied imaginings of touching this same hand in the past. Now he had it within his own. Trowa was real, soft, his flesh yielding against his palm.

There was no warmth in it, the other’s fingers were icy and hard to the touch. It was as if the chill of space had never left him, as if the vacuum that had tried to snatch Trowa’s mortality had permeated his being to settle deep within him. Heero couldn’t help but think that Trowa had brought space and the tragedy of it with him.

“I’m sorry,” Heero finally replied automatically, though there was no sincerity in his words. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. “For taking you away from the party… your date.” The pretty woman Trowa had come to the event with had completely slipped Heero’s mind, fueling his embarrassment. He had taken Trowa from his girlfriend-wife-whoever she was.

The thought of her prompted Heero to finally release Trowa’s hand. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them under control lest he act inappropriately again.

“I don’t usually make a habit of stealing other people’s boyfriends,” Heero added plainly, studying the line of taxis along the sidewalk waiting to pick up their patrons.

“Boyfriends? Catherine’s my sister.” Trowa corrected with a soft chuckle, feeling the tension melt from his stiff muscles as he started to relax in Heero’s presence. “She’s visiting from France. I’m… single,” But that was beside the point. He took a step back so he could take Heero in, eyes looking him over, memorizing every last detail from the soft brown bangs that framed his face, to his piercing blue eyes, and the way he stood with his shoulders squared, hands shoved casually into his pockets.

Heero Yuy was a _strikingly attractive_ man. Trowa knew that already from the videos he’d watched of Heero’s last mission, but seeing him in person, dressed up in a navy fitted suit was different.

_He’s so….short. Shorter than I had imagined, anyway._

Somehow that just added to his overall appeal. Trowa moved his gaze down to focus on Heero’s lips, which had spoken calmly to him during the accident.

_‘Breathe, Trowa.’_

He found himself following that command even now, and reminded himself to breathe before speaking again, “Heero. It’s good to finally meet you in person.” His nerves were on edge but that didn’t stop Trowa from reaching out to pull the other into a friendly embrace. “Thank you for rescuing back there. You saved me the hassle of having to search for you through the crowds before I left.”

Trowa hadn’t forced himself to attend the event just to check in with Noin. He’d wanted to see Heero. Relief suddenly washed over him.

_Sister? And he was searching for me?_ Heero’s body stiffened in surprise as the other astronaut pulled him into a tight hug. His head began to spin. Was Trowa hugging him? He chalked it up to French forwardness and decided not to think too hard about the motives behind the action and simply allowed himself to relax within the sudden, friendly gesture.

He felt guilty for finding relief in the fact that the woman Trowa had been pictured with and had brought along as his date wasn't a love interest. Trowa’s admission that he was in fact single ignited a glimmer of hope within him. There was still the question of the boy in the images with Trowa and his sister. Heero wondered who he belonged to.

“She’s your sister? I … I just assumed that she and the boy in the picture were-” Heero began, feeling embarrassed for his incorrect assumptions.

“My nephew,” Trowa said kindly. He had forgotten about the photographs in his apartment. As he recalled the images he had a sudden revelation. The sunflowers. One of the photos was of himself, his sister Catherine and her son, Nolan, standing in a field of sunflowers. “The flowers. You chose sunflowers because of the picture?”

Trowa could feel Heero nod against his shoulder. “Yeah. Were they okay?”

“Yes. They were very nice.” Trowa couldn’t help but chuckle.

Heero sighed in relief. So the people in the image were Trowa’s sister and nephew. At least now he knew for sure that Trowa wasn’t taken, but _was_ he into other men? It was a sensitive topic, and one that Heero wasn’t sure how to approach. Obviously it was a subject they’d have to address at another time.

“Being single isn’t such a bad thing,” Heero finally murmured in reply. “I’ve gotten used to it. At least you have family.”  
  
Trowa was hugging him and he hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with Heero’s hand holding moments before. He had initiated the hug, but that meant nothing. Heero knew that Europeans were more open with their physical expressions than the Japanese or Russians were. It may have meant nothing to Trowa, but in the moment Heero simply let himself relax and enjoy it. His hands automatically slid around Trowa’s torso, his palm giving the other astronaut’s shoulder a firm, friendly pat.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to come,” Heero finally admitted. He swallowed back his disappointment as Trowa disengaged from him and stepped back to eye him. “I needed to give you something…” he reached in his pocket and revealed Trowa’s spare key. “Sorry I kept it for so long, I was having trouble getting down to The Heights so I thought I’d just give this back to you in person.”

“It’s alright, it’s just a spare. Thanks again for watching my place. When I came home it was in better shape than I had left it.” Trowa took the key and quickly pocketed it. “You’re not with Relena anymore…?” This was news to him. Wasn't she Heero’s date for the evening? When had they broken up?

Heero studied Trowa’s face for a long, silent moment before replying. “No. I was forced to break it off with her months ago,” he explained slowly, assessing Trowa’s reaction to every one of his words. It felt strange telling him this, especially considering it was indirectly _because_ of Trowa that he had left Relena in the first place. He slipped his hands back into his pockets and tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. “She asked me to come with her tonight just as friends.”

_Forced to break up with her?_ Trowa wondered what that meant, but didn’t pry. It wasn’t his place to ask. “I see. At least neither of us had to show up alone.” He wasn’t sure what else to say to that and so he just stared at the other curiously. 

“I almost didn’t come at all,” Heero admitted with a frown. He had known that Dorothy’s version of a memorial was going to end in a media feeding frenzy. “But now I’m glad I did. I’m sorry I couldn’t come see you at the hospital or that I didn’t try to call you before now. I don’t actually have your number.” He smirked and rubbed the back of his neck, his embarrassment obvious. “It felt weird not talking to you every day, actually.”

“I’m glad you feel the same way…” Trowa bit the inside of his cheek as he studied Heero, then snapped out of it and reached into his inside jacket pocket to pull out his phone. “We should exchange numbers.” He hoped that wasn’t too forward. 

“Yeah.” Heero fished his work phone out of his pocket and quickly thumbed through the menus to add a new contact.

Was this really happening? Only a few minutes before Heero had been moping around in the lobby of the crowded convention center thinking about heading home for the night and now he was outside in the chill evening air exchanging phone numbers with the guy he had been crushing over for months. He handed his phone to Trowa and waited patiently while the other young man typed his in his contact information. When he received his phone back he rang Trowa’s number to leave his number on his device and then slid his phone back into his pocket.  
  
“How have you been feeling?” Heero asked curiously, looking up through his dark, messy bangs to study Trowa’s face with curiosity. He hadn’t heard much about Trowa since he had arrived back on Earth and now that he was on leave while the situation was being investigated he had no access to any information about him. It _had_ felt strange waking up every day without going to work. He felt isolated and alone. “You seem to have gotten your land legs back.”

“It took a few days,” Trowa chuckled softly, remembering how awkward it had been to try and stand up or walk around after spending months in orbit. His first night back on earth had been rather challenging. He’d woken up with a full bladder and needed to relieve himself, and so, half asleep, he’d tried propelling himself from the bed, expecting his body to float and glide effortlessly to the bathroom. It did no such thing. He rolled off the mattress and fell flat on the cold tile of the hospital floor. Hello gravity.

“It still feels strange. I miss floating as a means of getting around, but I’m glad I don’t have to secure all my belongings to Velcro anymore.”

Despite his loss in bone mass, muscle atrophy, temporary problems with his vision, and blood redistribution, the doctor had told him that he was recovering well from his time in space. Trowa had hidden his mental state well from NASA’s observant eyes. He didn’t want them to know he was having trouble sleeping at night and was now apparently suffering panic attacks. If they found out they might not allow him back up in space.

“You _could_ still use Velcro if you wanted to,” Heero said with a smirk. “It may get you a few strange looks…” Over Trowa’s shoulder Heero could see a few people leaving the party to load up into one of the waiting taxi cabs. “I know this is going to be a little forward of me, and I know it’s not my place, but… you can call me anytime. For anything.” He shifted his weight nervously and sighed. “You’ve been through a lot. I know how hard it is to talk about things like that.”

This was the second time Heero had let him know he could call any time he wanted. Now that Trowa knew the other was single he felt less guilty about taking up his time, about _wanting_ to call him. “Did you have trouble adjusting when you returned from your last mission?” Trowa asked curiously, in no hurry to rush back inside even though he knew he’d left Catherine alone.

“Yes.” Heero frowned and leaned his shoulders against the wall beside Trowa, crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head as the memories of his first few months home flooded back into his mind.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Heero confided with a sigh. “Everyone assumes that space is some dark, silent place. You know very well that it’s not. The station was so noisy, the clicking and humming, the computers and generators, all of it echoed throughout day and night. At first it drove me crazy but I came to rely on those noises to feel grounded and safe. When I came back I couldn’t sleep without replicating that noise. I found that the sound of my gym shoes banging around in my dryer was the best thing, so I made a recording of that. I still sometimes have to sleep with it…” He had never told anyone that before.

It felt strange being able to speak to Trowa face to face and without the risk of NASA overhearing their conversations. Despite being able to interact with Trowa one on one he couldn’t bring himself to maintain eye contact when he spoke. There was something so much more intimate about looking Trowa in the eye than he had imagined, and the other astronaut’s sharp, emerald green eyes were so stunning that they ket causing him to fumble with his words.

“Once… when I was training back in Japan there was an incident. We were preparing to go out on a training mission with our jets when one of the maintainers was at the wrong place at the wrong time…” Heero stared at the line of taxis, but in his mind he could see the young jet maintainer walking in front of the nearby turbine, talking to someone else and not paying attention. “He got sucked in. Up until that point I hadn’t really known just how much blood was in a body…” He ran his tongue across his lower lip slowly, the chill of the air around them causing the tip of his nose to tingle.  
  
“We all have our ghosts, Trowa. The hard part is going to be learning to live with them.”

Trowa nodded and folded his arms across his midsection as a sudden chill ran down his spine. Heero was right. They had their own demons to cope with. “I’m sorry to hear that,” He gave the other an apologetic look and was about to lean against the wall next to Heero when out of the corner of his eye he saw Wufei and Noin rushing out of the venue.  

Heero spotted Trowa’s gaze locking onto something and he leaned over to follow the path of his eyes. Noin was staggering out of the conference center with a handful of people around her, including Wufei Chang who was on his cell phone speaking in a quick, sharp tone. Heero couldn’t make out his words.

Noin looked pale, her shoulders slumped forward as if she was about to vomit. Her companions assisted her carefully into a nearby taxi. One of the young women slid into the back seat with her. The scene ended with the taxi pulling off with Noin and her friend, leaving the rest of her accompaniment standing on the curb watching on with worried expressions.

Wufei hung up his phone and turned around to sulk off back into the conference center. He stopped at the top step when he spotted Trowa and Heero holding the wall up with their backs nearby. Pocketing his phone, he hurried over and gave Trowa a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Trowa, it’s nice to see you again. I heard you had a run in with the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Heero sighed. “What’s wrong with Noin?” He had seen women grieve in the past, but Noin looked as if she was about to vomit. He wasn’t sure if that was a normal response to sadness.

“Just not feeling well. This was all too much for her,” Wufei explained with a frown as he crossed his arms over his suited chest with a shake of his head. “Honestly her doctor advised her to avoid stressful situations considering the early stage she’s in, but she didn’t listen to him. She’ll be fine once she goes home to lie down and relax.”

Heero raised an eyebrow at him. “Early stage?”

Wufei blinked, his expression revealing sudden regret. He had let something slip that he hadn’t intended to. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Well, this stays between you and me, alright?” His dark eyes narrowed on them both threateningly. “Noin’s with child.”

Trowa’s eyes went wide. “She’s pregnant?” There was no way she was over 5 months along, which meant she had conceived while aboard the ISS. “When did she find out?” Had Milliardo known? Surely not. Noin must have found out when she was examined upon return to Earth.

_He left a piece of him within her, and the baby will never know its father now…_

Trowa’s stomach lurched.

Wufei studied Trowa’s face. Heero immediately noticed the color draining from the former flight engineer’s cheeks. He reached out to grab his shoulder to steady him.

“She’s six weeks along, and found out shortly after landing during her post-flight exams.” Wufei jabbed a finger at both of them sternly. “Nobody knows about this. Understood? Especially Dorothy. We don’t need her using _this_ to boost her ego as well.” He straightened his tie and took a deep breath. “Time to head back into the battle,” he grumbled as he turned away from them to march back into the convention center.

Heero watched him go and then turned his attention to Trowa who was looking even paler. He knew that Noin being pregnant was a major development. She had thought that she lost Milliardo forever, and now she carried part of him with her. He also knew that the idea that Noin was having Milliardo’s child without him there would be weighing heavily on Trowa. As if his survivor’s guilt wasn’t already bad enough…

“There’s nothing else you could have done,” Heero finally murmured, his fingers tightening on the taller astronaut’s shoulder. “Let Milliardo’s blood be on Catalonia’s hands, not yours.”

“I…” Trowa shook his head, but didn’t bother finishing his sentence. Now it felt like he was letting down _yet another_ person for unsuccessfully saving Milliardo’s life. “How did they even…” How was it POSSIBLE to conceive in space?

Okay that was a stupid question. Everyone knew the newlyweds were sleeping together on the space station. Clearly they’d figured out a way to have intercourse in their cramped sleeping pods. “The media can’t find out about this.” Trowa repeated Wufei’s words, his shoulders slumping. “She’s the first woman to conceive in space…”

“Exactly,” Heero said slowly, his fingers loosening on Trowa’s shoulder. He ran his hand down to his upper arm and rubbed there softly, as if trying to lure Trowa back to the land of the living and ground him to the Earth once more.

“This child may not even survive,” Heero added solemnly. Radiation exposure was only one of the issues that astronauts faced when working for extended periods of time on the space station. While studies had been done on small microorganisms on the lab setting up there the concept of human conception hadn’t been tested yet. Anything could happen. “That’s her burden. It would have happened with or without Milliardo being here now. Noin has support, doctors, and people around her who love and care for her.”

The thing that worried Heero was the fact that, despite Trowa’s sudden media coverage and proclamation as a hero, he seemed alone. He had come to the event with his sister, but who else did he have? Who would be there for _him_?


	12. Chapter 12

**_Johnson Space Center_ ** ****_  
_ **_Houston, Texas, United States_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Monday March 15, 2004_**

 

“Who are you looking for?”

Heero immediately tore his eyes away from the conference room door and began to glare holes into the bottom of his empty coffee cup. “Nobody.”

Quatre smiled, sighed and reached over to pat Heero’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Try to relax.”

Heero scowled but didn’t look up to acknowledge Quatre’s statement. Had he been that obvious?

The truth was he _was_ looking for someone. Today was the day that NASA finally had everyone gather for a briefing about the investigation into the Catalonia capsule failure and Milliardo’s death. Everyone had supposedly been summoned to attend, and Heero hadn’t seen the French astronaut in nearly two months. After a couple of phone calls and a handful of lunch dates Heero had lost track of Trowa, who supposedly had been tied up in some sort of media campaign that NASA was pushing. Heero had seen some evidence of the new campaign that morning in the Johnson Space Center lobby on his way into work. A large, life-sized cutout of Trowa modeling NASA’s new sleek, clingy black bodysuit used for compression and diving training was standing beside the receptionist desk with bright white, futuristic font printed across the base: “NASA, WORKING TOWARDS A NEW FUTURE ONE DISCOVERY AT A TIME”.

The cutout had caught Heero off guard and he was embarrassed to admit that when he had first passed through the doors and into the lobby he had nearly mistakened the cardboard version as the real thing. When he first spotted it his heart had leapt up into his throat and his pulse quickened. When he realized it was just a cut out of Trowa rather than the flesh and blood version he had he tried his best to play off his former excitement. Needless to say the secretary at the front desk got a kick out of his sudden crestfallen expression.

Heero had to admit that the Trowa seemed to fit in well for his new role at NASA. He had a nice face: calm, cool, collected yet approachable. Even the cut out bore the Frenchman’s catlike grace, the expression knowledgeable. Intelligent. Heero could feel it’s artificial gaze follow him across the lobby as he made his way to the conference room.

“Man, can someone pass me some more coffee?” Duo leaned across the table and tried to grab the nearest carafe, but it was just out of reach. Sally smiled from her seat beside Heero and got up to push it towards the American astronaut. Sally and Duo had been back on Earth for almost a month. While Heero didn’t have a very close personal relationship with Duo, he could tell that the other man was a little more agitated than usual. His normal happy-go-lucky, boisterous personality seemed more subdued ever since his return. It was clear to Heero that the events and subsequent recovery mission of Milliardo’s body had taken its toll on him. Sally seemed to be taking things in stride, or maybe she was just better at hiding it than Duo was.

Noin wasn’t present at this meeting. Heero had noticed that immediately, and had overheard Wufei explaining that she had been briefed enough in private and that this discussion would just upset her further.

As far as Heero knew Noin was still pregnant and intended on keeping her child, no matter what the outcome. Wufei wasn’t very forthcoming with the details but he gave off the impression that the child had a 50-50 chance of making it to term. Heero hoped that it did for Noin’s sake. The woman had lost enough.

 

* * *

 

_Beep. Beep._

Trowa glanced down at his watch with a frown. _Shit._ He was going to be late for the meeting if he didn’t hurry. It had been 48 hours since he’d last slept, and he was FINALLY dozing off when his alarm had gone off that morning. He’d hit the snooze button 5 times, which was why he was currently rushing to get to work on time.

Red converse-clad feet carried him across the parking lot and into the main building of the Johnson Space Center. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket as he entered the facility.

The last few months had been a whirlwind. Catherine had stayed with him for a total of 3 weeks and had offered to stay longer, but Trowa told her it was okay to head back to France. Nolan, who had been staying with his grandmother, needed her more than he did.

The media was still in a frenzy over the accident and everyone was calling him a hero for attempting to save Milliardo and for ‘saving’ the other ISS crewmembers. It was all lies. Trowa was no hero. Sally and Duo had been prepared to close off the rest of the modules had Trowa not made it back in time. They could have ‘saved’ themselves, but apparently the public didn’t understand or even care about important details like that.

And NASA wasn’t in a hurry to correct them either. They seemed happy with all the hype surrounding their French astronaut, thinking Trowa was giving the public something positive to focus on while they sorted out the details of the accident.

In other words they were using him as a convenient, _attractive_ distraction. They had been pressuring him into being the ‘face’ of the organization, which came with the added responsibilities of speaking to reporters, going on talk shows, posing for photos, and marketing their brand any way they saw fit. Trowa _hated_ the attention, but he was worried that if he didn’t comply he would lose the opportunity to return to space. So he put up with their demands. For now, anyway.

He rounded the corner in the lobby and came face to face with the life-sized cutout of himself. It stopped him in his tracks.

_What the…?_

When they’d taken this photo he had no idea it was intended to be a cardboard cutout. Were there more of them? Why was it here in the lobby for EVERYONE to see? He was embarrassed.

_Is this really what I look like? They removed the dark circles from around my eyes..._

Trowa shuddered and pushed his way past the reception desk, resisting the strong urge to grab the cutout and burn it to the ground. He checked his watch once more and made his way to the meeting room.

 

* * *

 

All eyes turned to the conference room door as a tall, lean figure slipped inside to join them. Heero immediately recognized it to be Trowa, his long bangs occluding his embarrassed smile as he greeted everyone with quiet niceties as he wove his way to the nearest empty seat beside Duo, across the table from Heero, Sally and Quatre.

“Well, well, well,” Duo said with a playful grin as Trowa took his seat. “Our pretty posterboy finally decides to show up. I was kinda hopin’ you’d be in our fancy futuristic gimp suit, pal.” The American elbowed Trowa’s arm with a wink, referring to the obscenely tight, clingy black suit Trowa’s cut out in the lobby was sporting.  
  
“It’s nice to see you,” Quatre greeted him politely. “It seems you _have_ been pretty busy lately. Where have you been?”

Heero sighed and watched the others interact with him. He had exchanged a few emails and text messages with Trowa over the past couple of weeks but hadn’t seen him in person. It had been nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh. There was something alluring about the way he sat and addressed everyone who spoke to him. Each movement was elegant, purposeful. It was no wonder they had made him the official NASA spokesperson and model, he didn’t have a bad angle on him.

“All over,” Trowa looked over at Quatre with a tired expression and crossed his legs under the table. “I just returned to Houston yesterday afternoon. They sent me to California to appear on _The Ellen DeGeneres Show_ …” He hated talk shows, but Ellen seemed nice enough. Trowa was tired of traveling, tired of being ‘on’ all the time. He needed a break badly and it was starting to show.

“Oh? I love that show! How exciting.” Sally smiled, folded her arms on the table and leaned forward as she spoke. “I’m sure you did an excellent job.”

Quatre nodded. “We’ll have to watch it. Heero, have you ever seen that show?”  
  
Heero frowned. “No.” But now he was going to have to.

Duo snorted under his breath. “Yeah, well, _some_ of us are a little too busy for TV lately.” He was tugging irritably at his braid, something else clearly on his mind. He had a bad attitude ever since he had arrived. “You know, being real astronauts?”

Heero’s foot became possessed and moved on it’s own, striking Duo in the shin under the table.

“Ow, fuck!” Duo scowled and narrowed his eyes at him. Heero matched his glare with his own before turning away to ignore him. He turned his attention to Trowa and gave him a nod in greeting.  
  
“How long are you going to be in town for?” Heero didn’t care that Quatre was beaming beside him, obviously finding amusement in his question.

“I don’t know. A few days, maybe? A week? They don’t really give me much of a notice when they send me off.” Trowa answered Heero honestly, although his eyes were still on Duo. He wondered where that pointed comment had come from. While on the ISS he and Duo had gotten along well, in fact he’d say he was closer to the American than any of his other crewmates. Except Heero.

He frowned, obviously concerned. “Something wrong, Santana?”

“Eh,” Duo waved a hand dismissively. “Just tired of all this damn bullshit. I’m fed up.” The American’s arms tucked tightly over his chest and his expression mirrored that of a kindergartener's pout. “I dunno. I didn’t sign up for all this drama. I guess I’m in a bad mood. Sorry…”

Heero studied Duo for a long moment and decided that he would have to ask Sally if something had happened during Milliardo’s extraction. Having been on leave himself Heero had no information about what had happened after Trowa and Noin had left other than that the team was responsible for clean up and that the remaining crew had managed to finish up the final leftover experiments before their return. Something was bugging Duo. Normally it took a lot to get under the American’s skin.

Finally their flight director took her spot at the front of the room. She gathered a thick pad of paper in her hands and turned over the first page. “All right, we’re all here so let’s begin.”

 

* * *

 

The initial information their flight director gave them was practically word for word what the press release and most recent general NASA memo had said. Essentially it had been a summary informing the public and staff of a breach in the capsule and the subsequent death of Milliardo Peacecraft during the cargo unload. There had been no mention of Trowa Barton, his injuries or involvement.

Finally the director moved on to more specific information and as she did a heavy, oppressive tension fell over the room. Heero saw Quatre shift uncomfortably in his seat. Duo was rolling the tip of his long braid between his forefinger and thumb while he chewed the corner of his lower lip. Trowa just stared at her as she spoke with an impassive, calm expression.

“As you know we have conducted a thorough investigation into matter of Catalonia Industries and their reusable supply capsule program and have concluded that the capsule itself had been constructed with a few fatal errors, one of which includes improper thermal shielding as well as an outer wall that failed to meet NASA engineering safety standards. The outer layer was also a fusion of multiple panels held together by a subpar riveting system rather than the single panel standard NASA engineering requires-”

“Woah, hold on a damn minute,” Duo jumped up from his chair and planted his palms against the top of the table. “You’re sayin’ it took you guys almost two months to figure this out? And if they weren’t up to NASA standard then how the hell did they end up on that thing in the first place?”

Heero frowned, crossed his arms tightly over his chest and looked down the length of the table at their scowling flight director. He couldn’t blame Duo for his outburst, it was a question everyone must have been thinking. However, he also knew that their director had nothing to do with the investigation or the situation with the capsules. She was just the messenger.

“Mister Maxwell, would you _please_ let me finish my presentation?” The woman sighed, obviously frustrated. Heero could see Duo warring with himself. The American astronaut’s fingernails scraped the tabletop. His hands balled into tight fists before he reluctantly took his seat.

“As I was saying, the capsule was not built to NASA standards…”

“How do we access the docked capsule’s statistics?” Heero interrupted her. She narrowed her eyes on him.

“That information is confidential.”

Duo snorted loudly. Heero was certain he could see Quatre shrinking ever so slightly in his chair.

“Why? Isn’t the investigation complete?” Sally asked, her voice tight. Their director shook her head.

“Unfortunately now that none of you are involved in the mission we cannot allow access to trade specific information such as the statistics of the capsule. That information is privy to the investigation, which _has_ been completed, and remains property under trade and copyright law of Catalonia Industries…”

Duo’s eyes rolled so hard they threatened to fall out of his head. “Wait a minute, so you’re sayin’ we can’t even SEE the FUCKED UP version of the capsule- you know, the one that killed someone - because Catalonia Industries needs to cover up their mistake? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

“Duo, please,” Quatre attempted to calm him, his hand pressed firmly to the American’s shoulder.

“Nah. This is just more trash they want to feed us. I’m tired of this bullshit. I’m out.” Duo stood abruptly and stalked towards the door. “You can go ahead and read off the party line to the rest of ‘em but not me. I came here to get answers, not be spoon fed more of Catalonia’s crap.”

With a slam Duo had exited the room, leaving their flight director at the head of it red faced and scowling.

 

* * *

 

The meeting hadn’t gone well. The only new information they’d received was the confirmation that there had been an issue with Catalonia Industries’ capsule, which everyone had already suspected. Trowa didn’t blame Duo for getting upset and walking out. The American was right, NASA was tip toeing around the _real_ problem and purposely keeping everyone at arm's length. It didn’t feel right, like something was being covered up. Every time they asked a question they were told ‘that information is confidential’.

To quote Duo, this was all complete _‘Bullshit’_.

Trowa was wandering aimlessly down the hallway, hands in his pockets and head down as he paced. He was feeling uneasy, unsure of what this meant for his future, or what it even meant for everyone who’d been at the meeting.

What exactly HAD he expected out of that meeting? More answers, for one. Questions still fogged his mind, causing Trowa to tense up with unease. What was NASA planning on doing with their partnership with Catalonia Industries? What precautions would be taken next time to make sure this didn’t happen again? Would there even BE a next time, a second chance for Dorothy’s company? He certainly hoped not.

Trowa suddenly found himself standing outside the doors of the Johnson Space Center’s fancy, high tech break room. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, before entering. _A coffee sounds good right now..._  

THUMP.

The door was suddenly stuck fast, as if he had struck something on the opposite side. Trowa’s hand retreated from the door just as it was pushed open, a frowning figure revealing itself from the opposite side.  
  
Heero rubbed his forehead with his palm and peered through the doorway at his assailant, prepared to give him or her one of his trademark icy glares. As soon as he recognized the person standing outside his eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. “Now who’s making a flashy entrance?” he asked with a smirk.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Trowa blurted out, mortified he had struck someone, HEERO, in the head with the door. He reached up to run his fingertips across Heero’s warm forehead, checking for any redness or bruising, all the while muttering his apologies. 

“Hm. Fancy _running_ into you here…” Heero murmured in a flat, almost deadpan voice as Trowa inspected his forehead. He had been on his way out of the cafe. He hadn’t ordered anything, and had lost his appetite after overhearing a pair of staffers at a nearby table discussing Trowa’s cardboard cut out and how one of them should ask the Frenchman out. It had only reminded him of how cowardly he’d been the last two months as he was unable to muster up the balls to ask Trowa himself.

Now he had literally run into him. Was it a sign? Heero didn’t believe in any divine power, but he did find the coincidence amusing. “You can repay me by buying me a coffee,” he said in a serious tone, his eyes shimmering with amusement.

“But you were just leaving…?” Trowa dropped his hand and took a step back to give Heero his space. He shoved his hands back in his pockets and tilt his head to the side with a shrug and a tired smile. “If you’re going back in, then yes, I would love to buy you a coffee.”

Heero nodded and sidestepped to allow Trowa to pass through the doorway and into the cafe. As they walked side by side to the order counter he shrugged his shoulder and sighed. “I hadn’t seen anything in here I wanted,” _until now._

He could hear the women who had been arguing over who was going to ask Trowa out first gasp as they walked in together and could see them whispering excitedly behind their hands. Annoyed, he sidestepped closer to Trowa as the taller astronaut studied the overhead menu, allowing his shoulder to brush Trowa’s arm in an attempt to silently claim him.

“With this headache I’ve got coming on, I may need a double espresso,” he said slowly.

Trowa was completely oblivious to the stares aimed in their direction, focusing solely on the menu as he tried to decide what he wanted. The coffee in America wasn’t as good as the coffee in France, in his opinion. He felt Heero’s close proximity and decided to test the water, pulling his right hand from his pocket and letting it brush against Heero’s hand as it found its place at his side.

“If a double espresso is what you want. Maybe I will get the same thing.” 

Whenever Trowa was around Heero always felt hyper aware about his body and surroundings, especially when the other man was in his orbit. The hand brushing against his own didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay.” He waited patiently while Trowa stepped up to the counter to order and then chose the nearest table to sit with him while the barista worked on their espressos. There were four chairs at the short, round cafe table. Heero waited for Trowa to choose one before taking the one directly to his left rather than directly across from him.

The women seemed to have taken the hint and were leaving the cafe, casting curious glances over their shoulders at them in their retreat.

“So, you’ve been busy,” Heero said casually as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at Trowa with a sigh. “I should have tried to call more. I’m really bad at being a good friend…” The truth was he had a hard time trying to figure out what to say over the phone. Their conversations that way were always awkward.

“I’m not the best, either. I could have called YOU more,” Trowa pointed out, sitting back in his chair at an angle so he could face Heero. “I was just… tired. I was forced to be around people all day, every day. When I finally got some alone time I wasn’t feeling very social anymore.” It was a lame excuse and he knew it, but it was the truth. With NASA parading him around for media events he found that he had no time to recharge his batteries.  

“… We used to talk every day for 5 months. You’d think it’d be easier now that I’m out of orbit.”  Trowa ran his hand through his hair and gave Heero a shy, apologetic smile.

“Nothing’s easier down here. Gravity. People…” Heero shook his head. The barista came to give them their espresso. He lifted his miniature cup to his lips and took an experimental sip. “At least, even with you gone, I’ve still managed to _see_ you.” He gave a slight tilt of his head in the direction of the wall behind Trowa where one of NASA’s new media campaign banners hung over one of the outlying windows. Trowa’s handsome face emblazoned the far right corner.

Trowa didn’t even bother turning around. “I don’t think I want to look.” He smirked. “I’m not used to all this attention, to seeing cardboard cutouts of myself in lobbies… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” Duo’s pointed comment from the meeting suddenly reemerged in his mind.

_‘Yeah, well, some of us are a little too busy for TV lately… You know, being real astronauts?’_

_“_ I’m sorry, this has to be so obnoxious…” Trowa sighed and rest his elbow on the table.

“No, not obnoxious. I think you’re the best candidate for it, to be honest.” Heero shook his head again and then raked his fingers through his hair nervously. “It’s good you’re keeping busy and out there doing something productive.” It was common for astronauts to come back to Earth after exploring space to fall upon hard times. Alcoholism and drugs was running rampant through the veteran astronaut force.

“I will say the cutout in the lobby caught me off guard. I thought it was actually you at first…” Heero teased, sipped his espresso and tried not to stare too hard at Trowa’s gorgeous face. He had definitely missed looking at him.

“You thought a photoshopped, 2-D print out was the real thing? When did you last get your eyes checked?” Trowa started to laugh. He shook his head and finished his espresso before speaking again. “They removed the circles from around my eyes, whitened my teeth, and they definitely did _something_ to my… crotch region.” It was looking extra prominent in that clingy bodysuit. “False representation of a false ‘hero’.”

Heero sighed at the last statement. He had a feeling that Trowa still felt negativity about his new role in the organization. Hearing him speaking in such a self-deprecating way made him feel uncomfortable. Didn’t Trowa know that he was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen? That he _was_ a hero already by just going to outer space, something the majority of mankind could never accomplish?

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Heero finally said, his expression clearly reflecting his disagreement with Trowa’s statement. Trowa was avoiding looking at him, obviously not believing him. He slid his hand across the table and gently draped it over Trowa’s, squeezing it firmly. “You deserve all of this notoriety. Even if you don’t necessarily agree with how they’re doing it.”

“It’s not what I want.” Trowa shook his head and continued to stare a hole into the table as he spoke softly, his voice wavering. “If I’m going to be known for something, I want it to be for something important. Like a discovery, or breaking a record in space, or going to Mars. Not for unsuccessfully trying to save my comrade… Or having a ‘pretty’ face.”

What would his father think of all of this? All his education and training just to be a marketing toy for NASA? Deep down, Trowa felt like a failure and was secretly aching to go back up to space to prove himself.

“When I was younger, in my teens, some random model agency approached me at the mall in the outskirts of Paris. My mother tried pressuring me into getting involved with that superficial industry. I hated it. It’s not me… Now I feel like I’m ironically being pushed into the same thing I DIDN’T want to do so many years ago… I’m not ‘special’, Heero. I just work hard. I don’t want this attention.”

It saddened Heero to hear Trowa talk about his past. He hadn’t known that about him, and now the French astronaut’s animosity about being NASA’s model made a lot more sense.

“Once this dies down, you will be known for those things,” Heeros said quietly as he studied Trowa’s hand under his own. His thumb slid gently along Trowa’s as he thought. “They’ll come to see you for your other accomplishments, too. You logged the most spacewalk hours in one expedition than most of the seasoned veterans have in their entire careers. You broke my record for side-maintainer panel removal. Actually… “ he paused and frowned, “-two. You broke two of them.” He hadn’t admitted that to him while he was on the station.   
  
“Your proposals for the new solar cell modifications will make them more efficient. That will be a lasting legacy you’ll be leaving on the station as well. You’re well liked by everyone on the team. Your pre-flight exams were within the top 3%. You are the ESA’s top flight engineer and astronaut candidate. So what if you also happen to be handsome?” Heero delivered these facts in his usual, matter-of-fact manner but the sentiments were heartfelt. He didn’t like seeing Trowa speak so negatively of himself. Not when he was so amazing in comparison to most.

“Well when you put it that way,” Trowa caught the other’s mesmerizing blue eyes and froze. Very slowly he flipped his hand over on top of the table and pressed their palms together, fingers unconsciously trailing along the undersides of Heero’s as he thought about his words.

Heero was right; Trowa was being hard on himself. He’d always been that way. Often it was too easy to focus on the negatives and bypass all the positives. He had accomplished a lot on his first mission, but he was hungry for more. There was still so much to do.

“…My father worked for Centre National d'Etudes Spatiales. He always told me he was never good enough to be an astronaut, that he’d never be able to pass the training, so he had settled on what he WAS good at. He was a _brilliant_ engineer for the French space program... I think, long before I was ever born, that he had hoped his son would go to space some day,” Trowa wanted so badly, more than anything else, to make his father proud, to live up to his standards.

It was the one thing he could do in his father’s memory.

Heero’s mind was streaming with questions. Going into this coffee break he hadn’t expected their conversation to become so intimate. Heero was almost too distracted with the fact that Trowa hadn’t tried to pull away from his touch, but rather seemed to invite it.

He had wondered if Trowa was attracted to men and his bold moves had won him his answer. Hugs and kisses on the cheek were a European tradition, but soft caresses of the palm were not. Heero sighed as Trowa’s fingertips followed the lines of his palm. Finally he had his answer. During his months of secretly pining in the background of Trowa’s ISS mission he had felt a sense of guilt for wanting someone so intensely, especially someone he had, at the time, assumed was involved with a woman.

“Where is your father now?” Heero studied Trowa’s face as he asked the question and noted the sadness that tinted his eyes.

“The stars.”  Trowa said as he nodded his head towards the window. “When I was in grade school he was in a car accident. He didn’t survive the injuries.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. Heero felt a sudden sense of shame at the fact that his own relationship with his father was so strained. His father was alive- even if they weren’t on the best of terms. He wished that Trowa’s father could see him now, he knew he would be proud of him. “I’m sure when you were in space he saw you there.”

Trowa wasn’t a very spiritual person, but he hoped his father, wherever he was, had glimpsed him on the space station. He gave Heero’s hand a squeeze before pulling away, worried he’d let it linger too long. He propped his elbow up on the table and rest his tired head in his hand while glancing over at the other with a crooked half-smile. “You’re a nice guy, Heero.” It was true.

“Unfortunately nice guys finish last,” Heero replied with a sigh. “You’re the only person who thinks I’m nice.” He had a reputation for being a hardass. His entire life he had come off aloof to most, unable to connect with his peers. Relena had accused him of being distant throughout their relationship, her parents most certainly despised him now, and among his coworkers only Quatre and Wufei spoke to him regularly. Quatre, because he was nice to everyone, and Wufei simply because they were cut from the same cloth and equally unapproachable.

Heero tried to imagine himself in Trowa’s shoes, representing NASA and JAXA, his cardboard cut out scowling at people as they entered the lobby.

“I’m glad you think that I am.” He wondered if Trowa was into nice guys.

“I don’t think. I _know_.” Trowa stated firmly. Deep down, under those brooding blue eyes and that ridiculously sexy pout, Heero wasn’t such a bad guy. And whether he knew it or not, he’d helped Trowa get through a lot the last few months. For that he was grateful. “Nice guys don’t always finish last.”

“No?” Heero smirked. “Let’s test this theory then.”

Heero couldn't help himself. He turned in his chair to fully face Trowa and leaned in, closing some of the space between them. “A nice guy would keep his distance, maybe ask for permission to take you on a date, want to meet your mother and request courtship,” he teased, his expression amused.

“A bad guy…” Heero grasped Trowa’s chin softly with his finger and thumb to hold him still so he could lean in so close that their noses brushed together. “A bad guy would just take what he wants. Who do _you_ want to win?”

Trowa held still, not intimidated by Heero’s close proximity, although a little bit shocked by his boldness. It excited him and when he felt the other’s breath tickle his lips he almost lost all of his self-control.

_Is he… are we going to…?_

Kiss. Were they going to kiss? Trowa’s body betrayed him and as his heart rate sped up and his pulse pounded loudly in his eardrums, he realized just how badly he wanted it. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before speaking in a hushed, low voice, “If you were a ‘bad guy’ you would have already taken what you wanted.”

Heero smiled. Trowa wasn’t stopping him. “You’ve yet to tell me which kind of guy you prefer.” Not that it mattered. He had already decided that Trowa’s mouth was going to be his, whether he was ‘good’ or not. He guided Trowa closer by his chin and moved to meet him halfway when a voice interrupted his selfish thoughts.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”  
  
Heero’s hand fell from Trowa’s chin and he immediately straightened in his chair, eyes seeking the owner of the voice. His expression had shifted from being open and amused to hard annoyance.   
  
Standing on the opposite side of the table from them was a tall Indian woman with long, thick black hair braided and draped over her shoulder. She wore a sharp burgundy pantsuit and was holding a pair of manila folders in her hands. Heero immediately recognized her as Miss Anika Sohdi, Johnson Space Center’s head of staff management.

She was smiling at him with a knowing expression. Heero could tell from her face that she knew _exactly_ what she had just interrupted.

“What do you want?” He didn’t try to hide the irritation in his voice.

Miss Sohdi pulled herself a chair at their table and took a seat across from them, setting her folders on the tabletop between them. “I’ve been tasked to discuss your futures with you. That is, if you can spare a moment?” She looked between Heero and Trowa, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Yes, we can.” Trowa spoke up, studying the folders with interest despite the kiss he’d just been robbed of. He’d been waiting months to find out what was next. Would he be stuck with NASA’s marketing department or would he be going back up to space?

“Please. Is this an alright place to have this discussion?” He looked around the break room and, aside from their table, found that it was empty.

“If it is okay with you?” Miss Sohdi slid the folders across the table and waited for the two astronauts to open them and look at the front page, which was essentially a paragraph on official NASA cardstock stating their offer.

“We are building a team for STS-108, set to launch in the fall of this year. The assessment board has created a list based on previous enrollment, performance and availability. You both have first pick for the mission, should you choose to accept it.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited as they looked over the offers.

Heero flipped through his own paperwork quickly before looking up at her, a frown hardening his face. “Mission commander?” He could think of at least 5 other astronauts waiting in the wings for their chance to launch, let alone be commander of a mission.

“Yes. Is that a problem? Do you feel you are not capable of handling the command of an ISS mission?” Miss Sohdi was studying him with curiosity, her demeanor businesslike.

“No. I can handle it.” Heero glanced over at Trowa.

Trowa’s eyes scanned over his paperwork until he spotted the offered position. Flight engineer. An extended period aboard the ISS so that he could continue his work on the solar cells, among other projects.  

Was this really happening? Was he going back to space after his failed first mission? Could he HANDLE it after the accident? Trowa was pretty sure he was suffering from PTSD, but had been hiding it from his NASA psychiatrist and doctors as well as he could, refusing to bring the symptoms up in their presence. Could he continue to hide it? And Heero would be commanding this time.

_Heero…_

Just a few seconds ago they had almost kissed, and now it was out there, they both had feelings for each other. What was going on between the two of them? Trowa hadn’t even had time to process it, to fully understand his feelings for the other.

“I accept.” Trowa set the folder down and placed his hands flat on top of it, pushing all the burning questions out of his mind.

“You may keep those files for your own reference. The staffing office will call you each to make formal arrangements so you may be briefed on your missions specifics. We’ll have to begin to work out the logistics of your ESA training, Mister Barton.” Miss Sohdi stood from her seat and smiled at them. “Well, then it’s official. Welcome, you’re both now official crew members of STS-108.”


End file.
